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Everyman,  I will  go  with  thee,  and  be  thy  guide, 
In  thy  most  need  to  go  by  thy  side. 


This  is  No.  563  of  Everyman’s  Library.  A 
list  of  authors  and  their  works  in  this  series 
will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this  volume.  The 
publishers  will  be  pleased  to  send  freely  to  all 
applicants  a separate,  annotated  list  of  the 

J.  M.  DENT  & SONS  LIMITED 

IO-13  BEDFORD  STREET  LONDON  W.C.2 

E.  P.  DUTTON  & CO.  INC. 

286-302  FOURTH  AVENUE 
NEW  YORK 


EVERYMAN’S  LIBRARY 
EDITED  BY  ERNEST  RHYS 


BIOGRAPHY 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
JOHN  CONSTABLE,  R. A. 
BY  C.  R.  LESLIE,  R.A.  • INTRO- 
DUCTION BY  C.  J.  HOLMES 


CHARLES  ROBERT  LESLIE,  an  American 
bom  in  London  in  1794.  Went  to  America 
at  the  age  of  five  and  lived  in  Philadelphia 
until  1 8 1 1 , when  he  returned  to  London  as  a 
student  at  the  Royal  Academy.  In  1821  was 
elected  A.R.A.,  and  R.A.  in  1826.  Taught 
drawing  at  West  Point  for  six  months  during 
1833.  Died  in  England  in  18^9. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
JOHN  CONSTABLE,  R.A. 


C.  R.  LESLIE,  R.A. 


LONDON:  J.  M.  DENT  & SONS  LTD. 
NEW  YORK:  E.  P.  DUTTON  & CO.  INC. 


All  rights  reserved 
Made  in  Great  Britain 
at  The  Temple  Press  Letchworth 
and  decorated  by  Eric  Ravilious 

f°r 

J.  M.  Bent  <%_  Sons  Ltd. 
Aldine  House  Bedford  St.  London 
First  Published  in  this  Edition  ipi2 


INTRODUCTION 


On  Tuesday,  May  15th,  and  on  Wednesday,  May  16th,  1838, 
the  finished  works,  studies,  and  sketches  of  John  Constable, 
Esq.,  R.A.,  deceased,  were  sold  by  auction  by  Messrs. 
Foster  in  Pall  Mall.  One  hundred  and  forty  lots  were 
offered,  including  fourteen  of  the  artist’s  largest  and  most 
famous  works,  but  the  net  result  was  little  more  than  2000 
guineas.  It  might  well  seem  to  his  friends  that  the  un- 
popularity which  had  pursued  Constable  all  his  life  was 
to  follow  him  beyond  the  grave. 

Five  years  later  ( 1 843 ) a biography  appeared  by  his  friend 
C.  R.  Leslie,  illustrated  with  a fine  series  of  the  mezzo- 
tints by  David  Lucas  after  Constable’s  sketches,  and  was 
successful  enough  to  warrant  the  issue  of  a second  edition 
without  the  illustrations  in  1845.  Leslie’s  quiet  good 
sense,  technical  authority  and  reasoned  enthusiasm,  coupled 
with  the  extraordinary  charm  of  the  book  as  a human 
document,  at  once  began  to  start  a revulsion  in  Constable’s 
favour.  External  causes  also  were  working  to  the  same 
end.  Constable  during  his  life-time  had  become  a con- 
spicuous figure  in  the  eyes  of  French  artists,  and  the 
naturalism  of  which  he  was  the  greatest  exponent  had  been 
making  headway  in  England  also.  The  seed  sown  by 
Leslie  thus  fell  on  a soil  that  was  not  wholly  unprepared  to 
receive  it. 

But  the  increase  of  Constable’s  reputation  must  also  in 
some  degree  be  attributed  to  the  conditions  of  the  picture 
market.  He  had  sold  very  few  landscapes  in  his  life-time, 
and  the  sale  in  1838  was  such  a fiasco  that  a considerable 
portion  of  his  works  were  “bought  in  ” by  his  family.  The 
result  was  that  so  soon  as  there  began  to  be  any  demand 
at  all  for  Constable’s  pictures  it  was  discovered  that  they 
were  exceedingly  scarce.  Forgers  did  their  best,  as  in  the 
case  of  Crome,  to  supply  the  deficit,  but  they  could  not 

vii 


Vlll 


Life  of  Constable 


keep  prices  from  rising  rapidly,  and  that  in  England  spells 
fime.  But  even  the  forgers  were  in  a difficult  position. 
Some  half  dozen  works  in  the  National  Gallery  and  at 
South  Kensington  made  up  practically  the  whole  of  the 
material  for  imitation;  when  that  was  exhausted  they 
(like  the  public)  were  compelled  to  fall  back  upon  the 
Lucas  mezzo-tints,  while  the  vast  mass  of  Constable’s 
genuine  work  remained  locked  up  in  inaccessible  private 
collections  until  the  year  1888,  just  half  a century  after  the 
disastrous  sale  at  Foster’s.  Then  Miss  Isabel  Constable 
bequeathed  to  the  nation  more  than  400  of  her  father’s 
pictures  and  studies,  and  a complete  estimate  of  Constable’s 
achievement  was  at  last  made  possible.  Miss  Constable’s 
gift  was  no  less  timely  than  it  was  precious.  Though  the 
market  price  of  Constable’s  works  was  rapidly  rising  to  a 
height  almost  unprecedented  for  a landscape  painter  and 
an  Englishman,  his  place  as  an  artist,  his  technical  skill, 
and  the  very  principles  on  which  he  worked  had  long  been 
challenged,  and  that  by  a very  formidable  enemy. 

More  than  thirty  years  before,  Constable’s  great  con- 
temporary Turner  had  found  a champion  in  John  Ruskin — 
a champion  who  brooked  no  rival  near  the  throne  of  his 
admiration.  Ruskin ’s  amazing  eloquence,  erudition  and 
public  spirited  advocacy  of  unpopular  causes  in  artistic 
and  social  matters,  had  in  the  course  of  years  given  him 
unrivalled  authority  among  the  English  educated  classes, 
and  his  influence  did  much  to  suppress,  though  it  could  not 
extinguish,  the  growing  feeling  in  favour  of  Constable’s  art. 
Ruskin  himself  was  frank  enough  as  to  his  own  motives. 
In  the  first  appendix  to  the  third  volume  of  Modern  Painters 
(1856),  he  writes,  “ The  reader  might  however  suspect  me 
of  ill-will  towards  Constable,  owing  to  my  continually 
introducing  him  for  depreciatory  comment.  So  far  from 
this  being  the  case,  I had,  as  will  be  seen  in  various  passages 
of  the  first  volume,  considerable  respect  for  the  feeling  with 
which  he  worked,  but  I was  compelled  to  do  harsh  justice 
upon  him  now,  because  Mr.  Leslie,  in  his  unadvised  and 
unfortunate  rechauffe  of  the  fallacious  art  maxims  of  the 
last  century,  has  suffered  his  personal  regard  for  Constable 
so  far  to  prevail  over  his  judgment  as  to  bring  him  forward 
as  a great  artist,  comparable  in  some  kind  with  Turner.” 

The  book  which  awakened  this  jealousy  was  Leslie’s 


Introduction 


IX 


; Handbook  for  Young  Painters,  of  which  the  first  edition 
: had  appeared  in  1854,  the  sanest  and  most  enlightened 
I practical  treatise  upon  the  arts  which  had  appeared  in 
England  since  Reynold’s  Discourses.  But  for  the  moment 
; its  soundness  made  but  little  appeal  to  the  general  public, 

‘ and  Leslie’s  modest  voice  was  overwhelmed  by  the  trumpets 
; of  Ruskin  and  the  din  of  the  Pre-raphaelite  controversy. 

; Only  when  Modern  Painters  has  become  a classic,  and  the 
1 Pre-raphaelites  have  become  old  masters,  have  we  slowly 
jj  come  to  recognise  that  Leslie  after  all  is  a sounder  guide 
than  his  brilliant  antagonist. 

I think  we  need  some  such  historical  prelude  if  we  are  to 
appreciate  quite  justly  the  value  of  the  Life  of  Constable. 
As  a painter  Leslie  will  never  rank  high.  It  is  true  that 
his  little  picture  in  the  Diploma  Gallery,  “ Catherine 
j of  Aragon,”  is  admirable  both  in  feeling  and  execution; 
but  he  rarely  reaches  anything  like  the  same  level,  and  his 
harshness  in  the  matter  of  colouring  (perhaps  due  to  a 
i mistaken  application  of  Constable’s  theories)  is  specially 
noticeable.  Yet  his  Autobiographical  Recollections  show 
! him  to  have  been  one  whom  the  eminent  men  of  his  age 
I were  glad  to  know;  as  a Royal  Academician  he  was  the 
| champion  of  important  reforms  which  have  since  been 
effected ; and  as  a critic  he  deserves  a far  higher  rank  than 
: is  commonly  accorded  to  him. 

Almost  every  word  that  he  wrote  fifty  years  ago  can  be 
; accepted  without  alteration  to-day,  and  in  his  attitude 
towards  masters  like  Girtin  and  Cozens  he  is  wholly  modern. 
Probably  in  this  matter  Leslie  owed  something  to  Constable, 
who  copied  Girtin  in  boyhood,  and  always  spoke  with 
rapturous  enthusiasm  of  Cozens.  But  the  inclusion  of 
these  masters  in  a serious  treatise  on  the  arts  was  a daring 
step  fifty  years  ago,  especially  when  they  were  honoured 
with  the  only  two  important  plates  which  the  treatise 
contains.  Even  the  relentless  partisanship  of  Ruskin 
might  well  have  been  softened  by  the  loveliness  of  the 
engraving  after  Cozens.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  print 
1 was  seen  with  blind  eyes,  the  praises  fell  upon  ears  that 
j could  not  or  would  not  hear,  and  it  is  not  until  the  last 
decade  that  Leslie’s  foresight  has  been  openly  and 
j abundantly  justified. 

j In  the  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Constable  the  same  sound 


il 


X 


Life  of  Constable 

judgment,  the  same  foresight,  is  no  less  consistently,  if  less 
obviously,  shown.  Leslie  had  known  Constable  ever  since 
his  student  days,  but  their  acquaintance  had  only  become 
intimate  friendship  during  Constable’s  later  years.  Thus 
for  the  earlier  portion  of  Constable’s  career  he  was  de- 
pendent almost  entirely  upon  letters  written  to  others, 
chiefly  to  members  of  Constable’s  own  family.  Some  of 
the  material  he  used  has  passed  through  my  hands,  and  I 
can  testify  to  the  thoroughness  with  which  he  seems  to 
have  extracted  from  every  letter  all  that  could  possibly 
interest  a later  generation,  except,  perhaps,  in  one  or  two 
cases  where  his  natural  amiability  led  him  to  suppress 
some  forcible  criticism  of  the  art  or  character  of  his  living 
contemporaries.  Only  in  one  period  of  Constable’s  life, 
from  1803-1811,  are  these  materials  really  inadequate, 
and  from  the  artistic  point  of  view  the  loss  is  serious. 
Everywhere  else,  however,  the  material  is  sufficient  to 
provide  a continuous  narrative,  and  one  of  quite  extra- 
ordinary interest  both  as  a contribution  to  the  history  of 
painting  and  as  a human  document. 

The  troubles  of  Constable  and  Miss  Bicknell  during  then- 
long  engagement,  the  persistence  of  the  one,  the  not 
altogether  culpable  hesitations  of  the  other,  the  perplexities 
of  their  elders,  all  overshadowed  by  the  portentous  figure 
of  Dr.  Rhudde,  the  rich  grandfather  whose  money  would 
be  left — heaven  knows  where!  if  the  young  people  were 
allowed  to  be  happy,  make  up  a wonderful  picture  of  social 
life  in  England  a hundred  years  ago.  Delightful  in  another 
way  is  the  portrait  of  Constable’s  friend,  Archdeacon 
Fisher:  one  who  loved  men  and  books  and  pictures  and 
pike  fishing,  who  bought  Constable’s  canvases  when  no  one 
else  dared  to  do  so,  and  who  supported  him  in  all  his 
trials  with  affectionate  common  sense. 

But  Constable  himself  is  naturally  the  great  figure  of 
the  book,  and  it  is  to  two  aspects  of  his  career  of  which 
Leslie  was  unable  to  speak,  that  I should  like  to  devote  the 
remainder  of  this  brief  note,  namely,  his  development  as  a 
painter,  and  his  influence  upon  landscape  painting. 

It  is  easy  to  blame  his  parents  for  opposing  Constable’s 
wish  to  be  an  artist;  but  an  acquaintance  with  his  early 
efforts  amply  justifies  their  reluctance.  Up  to  the  age 
of  twenty-four  Constable  was  a poor  draughtsman  and  a 


Introduction 


xi 


wretchedly  clumsy  painter.  During  the  next  six  years,  by 
unceasing  efforts  under  the  influence  of  such  different 
f masters  as  Girtin,  Ruysdael,  and  Benj  amin  West,  he  obtained 

I a very  fair  acquaintance  with  the  traditional  methods  of 
using  oil  and  water  colour,  which  he  employed  inter- 
1 mitten tly  in  attempting  to  paint  from  nature  in  his  beloved 
1 Suffolk. 

Then  followed  another  period  of  four  or  five  years  in 
which  he  obtained  work  as  a copyist  of  portraits,  which 

I brought  him  into  contact  with  paintings  by  Hoppner 
and  Reynolds.  From  them  he  learned  much,  and  a few 
; portrait  commissions  no  doubt  extended  his  technical 

! experience.  In  the  intervals  of  these  labours  he  returned 
to  his  painting  from  nature.  Here  his  newly-gained  know- 
ledge stood  him  in  such  good  stead  that  by  the  time  he  was 
thirty-six  years  old  (1812)  he  had  become  a capable  and 
original  artist. 

The  works  of  this  time  show  very  clearly  the  principles 
on  which  he  worked.  As  with  the  old  masters,  the  founda- 
tion is  a warm  monochrome  into  which  the  fresh  sharp 
colours  of  nature  are  painted,  at  first  with  a sparing  hand, 
afterwards  so  forcibly  that  the  original  foundation  is 
disguised,  if  it  is  not  wholly  concealed.  The  method  is 
specially  noticeable  in  his  large  pictures,  where  the  mono- 
chrome serves  as  a link  to  bind  the  masses  into  a compact 
whole.  In  his  sketches  the  use  of  a board  of  a reddish 
colour  is  enough  to  serve  the  same  purpose,  and  to  prevent 
the  cool  tones  of  blue  and  green  from  looking  cold.  And 
the  method  expands  with  his  increasing  experience.  As  time 
went  on  and  his  life  grew  more  troubled,  the  trouble  was 
reflected  in  his  workmanship.  The  serene  subjects  and  the 
serene  handling  of  his  early  years  gave  place  to  stormy 
moods,  expressed  by  fierce  brushwork  and  reinforced  with 
touches  of  pure  colour  applied  with  the  palette  knife. 
But  the  monochrome  foundation  persisted  to  the  last; 

I indeed  it  is  never  more  prominent  than  in  certain  works 
I of  his  later  years,  such  as  “ The  Valley  Farm  ” and  “ The 
Cenotaph  ” in  the  National  Gallery. 

It  is  in  virtue  of  this  monochrome  foundation  that 
I Constable  remains  a pupil  of  the  old  masters.  His  con- 
| nection  with  the  moderns  rests  on  the  sincerity  with  which 
he  looked  at  nature,  a sincerity  which  only  a few  years  ago 


Xll 


Life  of  Constable 


was  commonly  regarded  as  the  one  thing  needful  to  great 
art.  And  of  this  sincerity  Constable  was  the  conspicuous 
champion.  Turner  was  sincere  to  himself  rather  than  to 
nature.  Crome  was  sincere  to  nature,  but  never  allowed 
his  sincerity  to  over-rule  his  innate  reverence  for  fine 
painting.  Cox  and  De  Wint  were  sincere,  but  their  outlook 
was  less  wide,  their  truthfulness  less  unrelenting  than 
Constable’s.  So  it  has  come  about  that  Constable  is 
generally  held  to  be  the  father  of  modern  landscape  both 
in  France  and  in  England. 

Yet,  on  the  evidence,  the  claim  must  not  be  pressed  too 
far.  Delacroix  undoubtedly  repainted  “ Le  Massacre  de 
Scio,”  making  it  brighter  and  more  luminous,  after  seeing 
Constable’s  pictures  at  the  Salon  of  1824,  but  Rousseau, 
the  pioneer  of  landscape  painting  in  France,  was  then 
only  twelve  years  old,  Corot’s  work  retained  its  pleasant 
youthful  stiffness  for  years  after  Constable’s  death,  and 
French  painters  in  general  would  have  had  nothing  but 
the  memory  of  the  few  works  by  Constable  which  had  been 
shown  at  the  Salon  to  direct  their  sympathetic  enthusiasm. 
It  is  as  a tradition  rather  than  a reality  that  his  influence 
has  persisted. 

The  causes  have  already  been  indicated  which  made  his 
acceptance  in  England  more  tardy  than  it  might  otherwise 
have  been.  But  after  1888,  when  the  glamour  of  Ruskin’s 
eloquence  was  fading,  and  artists  were  able  to  judge 
Constable  by  the  superb  selection  from  his  life’s  work  in 
the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum,  admiration  increased  by 
leaps  and  bounds.  As  was  natural,  the  younger  painters 
were  those  who  were  able  to  profit  most  by  his  example, 
and  the  school  of  which  Mr.  Wilson  Steer  is  the  leader,  came 
into  being.  Constable’s  peculiar  intimacy  with  certain  aspects 
of  nature  remains  unrivalled  (Daubigny’s  knowledge  of  the 
scenery  of  the  Oise  is  the  one  parallel  to  the  Englishman’s 
knowledge  of  Dedham  Vale  and  Hampstead),  but  his  truth, 
his  courage,  and  in  some  measure  his  skill  in  seizing  the 
vital  spirit  of  landscape,  the  pulsating  life  of  clouds  and 
trees,  and  shifting  sunshine  have  been  inherited  by  his 
younger  disciples.  There  are  indications  already  that  this 
is  not  to  be  the  last  word  in  European  landscape.  Yet  the 
message  of  sincerity  to  nature  is  one  which  no  future  school 
of  painting  can  afford  altogether  to  forget,  and  in  Leslie’s 


Introduction 


xm 


Life  of  Constable  it  finds  its  first  and  most  perfect  expression.1 
For  Constable  was  one  of  the  few  painters  who  have  been 
able  to  record  their  thoughts  in  lucid  and  eloquent  words. 
His  letters  reflect  the  very  soul  of  his  art,  and  so  his  wise 
biographer,  by  leaving  him  to  tell  his  own  story,  has  given 
us  not  only  a human  document  of  singular  charm,  but  also 
a unique  record  of  the  most  momentous  aesthetic  revolu- 
tion which  Europe  has  experienced  for  at  least  three 
centuries. 

C.  J.  H. 

December  1911. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  John  Constable,  R.A.,  composed  chiefly  of  his 
letters,  1843,  2nd  edition,  1845;  New  Edition,  Life  and  Letters,  etc., 
1896;  Handbook  for  Young  Painters,  1855,  1870;  Life  and  Times  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with  notices  of  some  of  his  contemporaries,  com- 
pleted by  T.  Taylor,  2 vols.,  1865. 

Life  : Autobiographical  Recollections,  edited  with  a prefatory  essay 
on  Leslie  as  an  Artist,  and  selections  from  his  correspondence,  by 
T.  Taylor,  i860.  See  also  Cunningham,  Lives  of  the  British  Painters, 
edited  by  C.  Heaton  (Bohn’s  Standard  Library) ; and  Redgrave.  A 
Century  of  Painters  of  the  English  School,  2nd  edition,  1890,  1893. 


1 The  admirable  French  translation  of  Leslie’s  book  by  M.  Leon 
Bazalgette  (Paris:  Floury,  1905,  6 fr.)  includes  an  interesting  intro- 
duction on  Constable’s  relations  to  “ the  men  of  1830,”  and  notes  on 
points  raised  in  Lord  Windsor’s  John  Constable,  R.A.  (London:  Walter 
Scott,  1903),  which  contains  a considerable  amount  of  new  material, 
and  my  own  Constable  and  his  Influence  on  Landscape  Painting.  For 
the  pitfalls  which  attend  a minute  study  of  Constable’s  work,  see  The 
Burlington  Magazine  for  August  1908,  vol.  xiii.,  pp.  286-287. 


CONTENTS 


1776-1810 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Constable’s  Native  Scenery.  Parentage.  Birth.  School 
Days.  His  Love  of  Painting.  John  Dunthorne. 
Constable  employed  in  his  Father’s  Mills.  Intro- 
duced to  Sir  George  Beaumont.  His  first  Sight  of  a 
Picture  by  Claude.  Girtin’s  Drawings.  Constable’s 
first} Visit  to  London.  Farrington.  Antiquity  Smith. 
Constable  engaged  in  his  Father’s  Counting-house. 
Returns  to  the  Study  of  Painting.  Becomes  a 
Student  of  the  Royal  Academy.  His  Drawings  at 
Helmingham.  Visits  Derbyshire.  Anatomical 
Studies.  Exhibits  at  the  Academy.  Samuel  Strow- 
ger.  Mr.  West.  Situation  of  a Drawing  Master 
offered  to  Constable.  Dissuaded  by  Mr.  West  from 
accepting  it.  Voyage  from  London  to  Deal. 
Altar-Piece  for  Brantham  Church.  Visits  West- 
moreland and  Cumberland.  Introduced  to  the  Earl 
and  Countess  of  Dysart.  Altar-Piece  for  Neyland 
Church.  Jackson.  Wilkie.  . . . . 1 

1811-1812 

II.  West’s  Picture  of  “ Christ  Healing  the  Sick.”  Constable’s 
Art.  Traits  of  his  Character.  His  health  affected. 

Sir  George  Beaumont’s  Prescription.  Another  Pre- 
scription. Attachment  to  Miss  Bicknell.  Their 
Marriage  objected  to  by  her  Friends.  Visit  of  Miss 
Mary  Constable  to  her  Brother.  Correspondence 
with  Miss  Bicknell.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal 
Academy,  1812.  The  Rev.  J.  Fisher.  Mr.  Stothard. 
Constable  engaged  on  Portraits.  Fire  at  his 
Lodgings  ........  18 


1813-1814 

III.  Constable’s  Pictures  in  the  Exhibitions  of  1813.  Exhibi- 
tion at  the  British  Gallery  of  the  Works  of  Reynolds. 
Turner.  J.  Dunthorne,  Jun.  “ Willy  Lott’s  House.” 

Sale  of  two  of  Constable’s  Pictures.  His  Pictures 
at  the  Academy,  1814.  Excursion  in  Essex.  Pic- 
ture of  “ Boat-building.”  Constable’s  disposition  to 
shun  Society  .......  35 

xiv 


Contents 


xv 


1815-1816 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IV.  Constable  permitted  to  visit  Miss  Bicknell.  Death  of 
his  Mother.  Death  of  Miss  Bicknell’s  Mother. 

G.  Dawe.  Exhibition,  1815.  Delicacy  of  Miss 
Bicknell’s  Health.  Lady  Spencer.  Constable’s 
Studies  at  Bergholt.  Illness  of  his  Father.  Dr. 
Rhudde.  Exhibition,  1816.  Death  of  Constable’s 
Father.  General  and  Mrs.  Rebow.  Pictures 
painted  at  Wivenhoe  Park.  The  Rev.  J.  Fisher. 
Constable’s  Marriage.  Visit  to  Osmington.  Dr. 
Rhudde’s  Legacy  to  Mrs.  Constable  ...  46 

1817-1821 

V.  Housekeeping.  Birth  of  a Son.  Exhibitions,  1817, 

1818,  and  1819.  Birth  of  a Daughter.  Constable 
elected  an  Associate  of  the  Royal  Academy.  Sale 
of  his  large  Pictures,  the  “ White  Horse  ” and 
“ Stratford  Mill,”  to  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Exhibi- 
tion, 1820.  Matthews’  Diary  of  an  Invalid. 
Stothard’s  “ Canterbury  Pilgrims.”  White’s  Sel- 
borne.  Exhibition,  1821.  Excursion  in  Berkshire 
and  to  Oxford.  Studies  at  Hampstead.  Criticisms 
on  the  “ Stratford  Mill.”  Constable’s  Remarks  on 
Skies  ........  62 


1822 

VI.  Mr.  Samuel  Lane.  Farrington.  Coxe’s  Life  of  Correggio. 

Gold  grounds.  Constable’s  fourth  large  Picture. 
Stothard’s  “ Wellington  Shield.”  Farrington’s 
House.  The  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  Studies  of  Skies. 
Illness.  System  of  Copying  at  the  British  Gallery. 
Picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Bishop’s 
Grounds.”  David’s  Picture  of  the  “ Coronation  of 
Josephine.”  Constable’s  dread  of  a National  Gallery  76 

1823 

VII.  Illness.  Picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral.”  Sir  John 
Leicester’s  Pictures.  Wilson.  Constable’s  Pictures 
at  the  Exhibition.  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller’s  House. 

Life  of  Correggio.  The  Rev.  T.  J.  Judkin.  Sir 
William  Curtis.  Visit  to  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Font- 
hill.  The  Diorama.  Visit  to  Cole-Orton  Hall. 
Adventure  on  the  Road.  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Beaumont.  Pictures  at  Cole-Orton.  Manner  of 
passing  the  Day  there.  Scenery  of  its  Neighbour- 


XVI 


Life  of  Constable 


CHAPTER 

hood.  Southey.  Difference  of  Opinion  between 
Sir  George  and  Constable  on  Art.  Studies  at  Cole- 
Orton.  Return  to  London.  Illness.  Pictures  for 
the  Exhibition.  Southey  and  the  Church 

1824 

VIII.  Letter  from  Sir  George  Beaumont.  Picture  of  the 
“ Opening  of  Waterloo  Bridge.”  Lady  Paintress. 
Sale  of  two  large  Pictures  to  a Frenchman.  Picture 
of  a “ Lock  on  the  Stour.”  Description  of  Brighton. 
Mr.  Phillips.  J.  Dunthorne,  Jun.  Venetian  Secret 
discovered  by  a Lady.  Mr.  Ottley.  Washington 
Irving.  Note  from  Mr.  Brockedon.  Archibald 
Constable.  French  Criticisms  on  Constable’s  Pic- 
tures ........ 


1825 

IX.  Brighton  Sketches.  Family  Picture  at  Woodmanstone. 

Picture  of  the  “ Jumping  Horse.”  Gold  Medal 
awarded  to  Constable  by  the  King  of  France.  Due 
de  Choiseul.  Paley.  Sharon  Turner.  Picture  of 
the  “ Lock.”  Opinion  expressed  of  it  by  S.  W. 
Reynolds.  Constable’s  Pictures  in  the  Exhibition 
at  the  Academy.  Sale  of  two  Pictures  to  Mr.  Darby. 
Exhibition,  at  the  British  Gallery,  of  a Selection  of 
the  Works  of  Living  Artists.  Illness  of  Constable’s 
eldest  Son.  Picture  of  the  “ White  Horse  ” sent  to 
Lisle.  Dinner  at  Lady  Dvsart’s.  Northcote.  Cat 
and  Chickens.  Mr.  Bannister.  J.  Dunthorne’s 
Description  of  the  “ Devil  and  Dr.  Faustus  ” 

1826-1827 

X.  Return  of  the  “ White  Horse  ” from  Lisle.  Gold  Medal 

voted  to  Constable.  Letters  of  N.  Poussin.  Con- 
stable’s Picture  of  the  “ Cornfield.”  Letter  from 
Mr.  Phillips.  Mr.  Fisher’s  Description  of  the  Valley 
of  Sutton  and  Preston.  Anecdote  of  one  of 
Mr.  Fisher’s  Children.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal 
Academy,  1826.  Description  of  a ruined  Man. 
Paul  Pry.  Ludicrous  Occurrence  to  the  Ghost  in 
“ Hamlet.”  The  Brighton  Gazette.  “ The  Glebe 
Farm.”  Mr.  Fisher  and  Bishop  Burgess.  North- 
cote. Picture  by  Ruysdael.  Exhibition  at  the 
Academy,  1827.  Constable  removes  his  Family  to 
a House  in  Well  Walk,  Hampstead 


PAGE 


86 


102 


119 


132 


Contents 


XVII 


1828-1829 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XI.  Illness  of  Mr.  Abram  Constable,  and  of  Mrs.  Constable. 

Birth  of  Constable’s  youngest  Child.  Pictures  of 
“ Dedham  Vale,”  and  of  “ Hampstead  Heath.” 
Death  of  Mr.  Bicknell.  His  Bequest  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Constable.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy, 

1828.  Death  of  Archdeacon  Coxe.  Illness  of  Mrs. 
Constable.  Her  death.  Constable  ill.  Receives  a 
commission  to  paint  a Sign.  Elected  an  Aca- 
demician, 1829.  Congratulations  from  some  of  his 
Friends.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  and  Constable. 
Picture  of  “ Hadleigh  Castle.”  Constable  engaged  in 
preparing  the  English  Landscape  for  publication. 

Mr.  David  Lucas  . . . . . .144 


1830-1831 

XII.  Picture  of  “ Bergholt  Churchyard.”  Death  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence.  Mr.  Shee  elected  President  of 
the  Royal  Academy.  Notes  to  Mr.  Lucas.  Con- 
stable on  the  Committee  of  Arrangement  at  the 
Academy.  Picture  of  “A  Dell  in  Helmingham 
Park  ” exhibited  in  1830.  Illness  of  George  IV. 
Jackson.  Bannister.  Constable  Visitor  in  the  Life 
Academy.  Etty.  Wilkie.  Illness.  Large  Picture 
of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Meadows  ” ex- 
hibited, 1831.  Death  of  Jackson.  Death  of  North- 
cote.  Watteau.  Greuze.  JohnVarley.  Coronation 
of  King  William  IV.  and  Queen  Adelaide.  Lord 

B m.  Lord  Lyttelton  and  the  Ghost.  Old 

Sarum.  Illness.  Reform  Bill.  E.  Landseer  . 159 


1832 

XIII.  Illness.  Turner.  Claude.  Hobbema.  Gainsborough. 

Stanfield.  Picture  of  “ Waterloo  Bridge.”  Mr. 
Lawley.  Callcott.  Constable’s  Mode  of  Proceeding 
with  his  Pictures.  The  Palette  Knife.  Exhibition 
at  the  Academy,  1832.  Constable’s  eldest  Daughter 
dangerously  ill.  Illness  of  John  Dunthorne,  Jun. 
New  Apartments  for  the  Academy.  Death  of 
Archdeacon  Fisher.  Copy  of  De  Hooge.  Death 
of  J.  Dunthorne,  Jun.  Constable  attends  his 
Funeral  at  Bergholt.  Vale  of  Dedham.  E.  Land- 
seer. Mr.  George  Constable.  Picture  of  “ Engle- 
field  House”  ....... 


PREFACE 


In  the  first  arrangement  of  the  papers  of  which  these 
Memoirs  principally  consist,  many  passages  were  included 
that,  from  the  fear  of  making  the  book  too  long,  were  after- 
wards omitted.  The  interest,  however,  with  which  the 
retained  portions  of  Constable’s  correspondence  were  read, 
has  encouraged  me  to  restore,  now,  much  that  had  been 
left  out  of  the  first  edition.  To  this  I have  added  a few 
of  his  early  letters,  recently  placed  in  my  hands,  and  by 
a careful  examination  of  some  of  his  papers,  which  I had  not 
before  seen,  I have  been  enabled  to  make  a few  additions 
to  the  notes  of  his  Lectures.  I have  also  added  to  the 
quotations  from  the  letters  of  Archdeacon  Fisher  some 
passages  which  assist  the  narrative,  and  others  which  appear 
to  me  well  worthy  of  preservation  on  their  own  account. 

In  changing  the  form  of  the  volume  to  one  more  adapted 
to  general  circulation,  while  I cannot  but  hope  that  its 
additional  pages  will  be  found  to  add  to  its  value,  I regret 
that  it  must  appear  without  the  beautiful  engravings  from 
Constable’s  works,  with  which  in  its  first  state  it  was  adorned. 

I must  again  offer  my  thanks  to  the  members  of  his  family 
and  to  others  of  my  friends,  for  their  renewed  assistance  in 
a task,  to  me,  far  less  easy  than  interesting,  although,  now  as 
before,  it  has  been  little  else  than  that  of  an  editor. 

C,  R,  LESLIE. 

July  1845. 


XX 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
JOHN  CONSTABLE 


CHAPTER  I 
1776-1810 

Constable’s  Native  Scenery.  Parentage.  Birth.  School  Days.  His 
Love  of  Painting.  John  Dunthorne.  Constable  employed  in  his 
Father’s  Mills.  Introduced  to  Sir  George  Beaumont.  His  first 
Sight  of  a Picture  by  Claude.  Girtin’s  Drawings.  Constable’s 
first  Visit  to  London.  Farrington.  Antiquity  Smith.  Constable 
engaged  in  his  Father’s  Counting-House.  Returns  to  the  Study 
of  Painting.  Becomes  a Student  of  the  Royal  Academy.  His 
Drawings  at  Helmingham.  Visits  Derbyshire.  Anatomical 
Studies.  Exhibits  at  the  Academy.  Samuel  Strowger.  Mr. 
West.  Situation  of  a Drawing  Master  offered  to  Constable. 
Dissuaded  by  Mr.  West  from  accepting  it.  Voyage  from  London 
to  Deal.  Altar-Piece  for  Brantham  Church.  Visits  Westmore- 
land and  Cumberland.  Introduced  to  the  Earl  and  Countess  of 
Dysart.  Altar-Piece  for  Neyland  Church.  Jackson.  Wilkie. 

“ East  Bergholt,  or  as  its  Saxon  derivation  implies, 
Wooded  Hill,  is  thus  mentioned  in  the  Beauties  of  England 
and  Wales : — c South  of  the  church  is  Old  Hall,  the  manor 
house,  the  seat  of  Peter  Godfrey,  Esq.,  which,  with  the 
residences  of  the  rector,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rhudde,  Mrs.  Roberts, 
and  Golding  Constable,  Esq.,  give  this  place  an  appearance 
far  superior  to  that  of  most  villages.’  It  is  pleasantly 
situated  in  the  most  cultivated  part  of  Suffolk,  on  a spot 
which  overlooks  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Stour,  which  river 
separates  that  county  on  the  south  from  Essex.  The  beauty 
of  the  surrounding  scenery,  its  gentle  declivities,  its  luxuriant 
meadow  flats  sprinkled  with  flocks  and  herds,  its  well 
cultivated  uplands,  its  woods  and  rivers,  with  numerous 
scattered  villages  and  churches,  farms  and  picturesque 
cottages,  all  impart  to  this  particular  spot  an  amenity  and 
elegance  hardly  anywhere  else  to  be  found.” 

This  is  Constable’s  description  of  the  “ scenes  of  his  boy- 
hood,” which  he  was  fond  of  saying  “ made  him  a painter,” 

A 


2 


Life  of  Constable 


From  among  them  most  of  the  subjects  of  his  pencil  were 
selected.  The  frontispiece  to  the  English  Landscape,  a 
series  of  engravings  published  by  him  late  in  life,  is  from 
a sketch  of  the  house  in  which  he  was  born,  and  the  passage 
I have  quoted  accompanies  the  plate.  Fearful  of  having 
said  too  much,  and  yet  unwilling  to  say  less,  he  adds,  “ Per- 
haps the  author,  with  an  over-weening  affection  for  these 
scenes,  may  estimate  them  too  highly,  and  may  have  dwelt 
on  them  too  exclusively.” 

His  ancestors  were  from  Yorkshire,  where  the  name  is 
frequent.  His  great-grandfather,  Hugh  Constable,  carried 
it  into  Suffolk,  and  settled  as  a farmer  at  Bures,  on  the 
border  which  separates  that  county  from  Essex.  Golding 
Constable,  the  artist’s  father,  inherited  a considerable 
property  from  a rich  uncle,  who  was  childless,  including  the 
water-mill  at  Flatford ; he  afterwards  purchased  a water-mill 
at  Dedham,  and  two  windmills  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
East  Bergholt;  at  the  latter  place  he  built  the  house  which 
has  been  mentioned,  and  to  which  he  removed  in  the  year 
1774;  having  before  that  period  married  Miss  Ann  Watts, 
who  brought  some  accession  to  his  wealth,  but  more  to  his 
happiness,  for  she  possessed  in  a high  degree  the  virtues 
best  suited  to  domestic  life. 

The  children  of  this  marriage  were  three  sons  and  three 
daughters.  John  Constable,  the  second  son,  was  born  on 
the  nth  of  June,  1776,  and  baptized  on  the  same  day,  not 
being  expected  to  live.  He  became,  however,  a strong  and 
healthy  child,  and  when  seven  years  old,  was  placed  at 
a boarding-school  about  fifteen  miles  from  Bergholt.  He 
was  afterwards  removed  to  a school  at  Lavenham,  the 
master  of  which,  being  in  love,  left  the  care  of  his  scholars 
to  an  usher,  who  flogged  them  so  unmercifully  as  to  incur 
the  hatred  of  them  all;  and  Constable  secretly  resolved  to 
repay  his  own  share  of  the  castigation  in  kind,  if  as  men 
he  and  the  tyrant  should  ever  meet;  a resolution  he  was 
well  qualified  to  put  in  practice,  unless  the  usher  had  been 
a man  of  uncommon  personal  strength.  From  Lavenham 
he  was  removed  to  the  grammar  school  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Grimwood,  at  Dedham,  where  he  met  with  an  indulgent 
master,  with  whom  he  became  a favourite.  Dr.  Grimwood 
had  penetration  enough  to  discover  that  he  was  a boy  of 
genius,  although  he  was  not  remarkable  for  proficiency 


Love  of  Painting  3 

in  his  studies,  the  only  thing  he  excelled  in  being  penman- 
ship. He  acquired,  however,  some  knowledge  of  Latin, 
and  subsequently  took  private  lessons  in  French,  in  which 
he  made  less  progress.  He  was  at  this  time  sixteen  or 
seventeen  years  of  age,  and  had  become  devotedly  fond  of 
painting.  During  his  French  lessons  a long  pause  would 
frequently  occur,  which  his  master  would  be  the  first  to 
break,  saying,  “ Go  on,  I am  not  asleep:  Oh!  now  I see  you 
are  in  your  painting-room.” 

But  his  painting-room  was  not  under  his  father’s  roof. 
He  had  formed  a close  alliance  with  the  only  person  in  the 
village  who  had  any  love  for  art,  or  any  pretensions  to  the 
character  of  an  artist,  John  Dunthorne,  a plumber  and 
glazier,  who  lived  in  a little  cottage  close  to  the  gate  of 
Golding  Constable’s  house.  Mr.  Dunthorne  possessed  more 
intelligence  than  is  often  found  in  the  class  of  life  to  which 
he  belonged;  at  that  time  he  devoted  all  the  leisure  his 
business  allowed  him,  to  painting  landscapes  from  nature, 
and  Constable  became  the  constant  companion  of  his  studies. 
Golding  Constable  did  not  frown  on  this  intimacy,  although 
he  was  unwilling  that  his  son  should  become  a professional 
artist,  and  Constable’s  attempts  were  made  either  in  the 
open  air,  in  the  small  house  of  his  friend,  or  in  a hired  room 
in  the  village. 

It  argued  no  want  of  affection  or  of  foresight  in  his  father 
that  he  opposed  his  son’s  choice  of  a profession  in  which 
future  excellence  cannot  with  any  certainty  be  predicted 
from  early  attempts,  and  which,  even  if  attained,  is  less 
sure  than  excellence  in  many  other  pursuits  of  securing 
a competence.  He  would  have  educated  him  for  the  Church, 
but  finding  him  disinclined  to  the  necessary  studies,  he 
determined  to  make  a miller  of  him.  For  about  a year, 
Constable  was  employed  in  his  father’s  mills,  where  he 
performed  the  duties  required  of  him  carefully  and  well. 
He  was  remarkable  among  the  young  men  of  the  village 
for  muscular  strength,  and  being  tall  and  well  formed,  with 
good  features,  a fresh  complexion,  and  fine  dark  eyes,  his 
white  hat  and  coat  were  not  unbecoming  to  him,  and  he 
was  called  in  the  neighbourhood  the  “ handsome  miller.” 

The  windmill  in  an  engraving  from  one  of  his  sketches 
entitled  “ Spring,”  is  one  of  those  in  which  he  worked;  and 
its  outline,  with  the  name  of  “ John  Constable,  1792,”  very 


4 Life  of  Constable 

accurately  and  neatly  carved  by  him  with  a penknife,  still 
remains  on  one  of  its  timbers.  His  acquaintance  with  the 
•picturesque  machinery  both  of  wind  and  water-mills,  was 
very  useful  to  him  in  after  life.  His  younger  brother, 
Mr.  Abram  Constable,  said  to  me,  “ When  I look  at  a mill 
painted  by  John,  I see  that  it  will  go  round,  which  is  not 
always  the  case  with  those  by  other  artists.”  By  a wind- 
miller  every  change  of  the  sky  is  watched  with  peculiar 
interest;  and  it  will  appear  from  Constable’s  description 
of  this  plate  that  the  time  spent  as  one  was  not  wholly  lost 
to  him  as  a painter. 

“ It  may  perhaps,”  he  says,  “ give  some  idea  of  one  of 
those  bright  and  silvery  days  in  the  spring,  when  at  noon 
large  garish  clouds  surcharged  with  hail  or  sleet  sweep  with 
their  broad  shadows  the  fields,  woods,  and  hills;  and  by 
their  depths  enhance  the  value  of  the  vivid  greens  and 
yellows  so  peculiar  to  the  season.  The  natural  history,  if 
the  expression  may  be  used,  of  the  skies,  which  are  so  par- 
ticularly marked  in  the  hail  squalls  at  this  time  of  the  year, 
is  this: — The  clouds  accumulate  in  very  large  masses,  and 
from  their  loftiness  seem  to  move  but  slowly:  immediately 
upon  these  large  clouds  appear  numerous  opaque  patches, 
which  are  only  small  clouds  passing  rapidly  before  them, 
and  consisting  of  isolated  portions  detached  probably  from 
the  larger  cloud.  These  floating  much  nearer  the  earth  may 
perhaps  fall  in  with  a stronger  current  of  wind,  which  as 
well  as  their  comparative  lightness  causes  them  to  move 
with  greater  rapidity;  hence  they  are  called  by  wind-millers 
and  sailors,  messengers,  and  always  portend  bad  weather. 
They  float  midway  in  what  may  be  termed  the  lanes  of  the 
clouds;  and  from  being  so  situated,  are  almost  uniformly 
in  shadow,  receiving  a reflected  light  only,  from  the  clear 
blue  sky  immediately  above  them.  In  passing  over  the 
bright  parts  of  the  large  clouds  they  appear  as  darks;  but 
in  passing  the  shadowed  parts,  they  assume  a grey,  a pale, 
or  a lurid  hue.” 

Mrs.  Constable  procured  for  her  son  an  introduction  to  Sir 
George  Beaumont,  who  frequently  visited  his  mother,  the 
Dowager  Lady  Beaumont,  then  residing  at  Dedham.  Sir 
George  had  seen  and  expressed  himself  pleased  with  some 
copies  made  by  Constable  in  pen  and  ink  from  Dorigny’s 
engravings  of  the  Cartoons  of  Raphael ; and  at  the  house  of  the 


Antiquity  Smith  5 

Dowager  Lady  Beaumont  the  young  artist  first  saw  a picture 
by  Claude,  the  “ Hagar,”1  which  Sir  George  often  carried 
with  him  when  he  travelled.  Constable  looked  back  on  the 
first  sight  of  this  exquisite  work  as  an  important  epoch  in 
his  life.  But  the  taste  of  a young  artist  is  always  the  most 
affected  by  cotemporary  art.  Sir  George  Beaumont  pos- 
sessed about  thirty  drawings  in  water  colours  by  Girtin, 
which  he  advised  Constable  to  study  as  examples  of  great 
breadth  and  truth ; and  their  influence  on  him  may  be  traced 
more  or  less  through  the  whole  course  of  his  practice.  The 
first  impressions  of  an  artist,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  are 
never  wholly  effaced;  and  as  Constable  had  till  now  no 
opportunity  of  seeing  any  pictures  that  he  could  rely  on  as 
guides  to  the  study  of  nature,  it  was  fortunate  for  him  that 
he  began  with  Claude  and  Girtin. 

In  the  year  1795,  his  father  consented  to  his  visiting 
London,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  what  might  be  his 
chance  of  success  as  a painter,  and  on  this  occasion  Priscilla 
Wakefield  furnished  him  with  a letter  of  introduction  to 
Farrington,  of  whom,  it  has  been  said,  he  became  a pupil. 
But  this  was  not  the  case,  though  he,  no  doubt,  received 
many  valuable  hints  from  a landscape  painter,  who,  though 
not  a man  of  genius,  possessed  a great  deal  of  good  sense, 
and  could  tell  him  much  of  the  practice  of  Wilson.  Farring- 
ton predicted  Constable’s  future  excellence,  and  said,  at  an 
early  period  of  their  acquaintance,  that  his  style  of  landscape 
would  one  day  “ form  a distinct  feature  in  the  art.” 

Soon  after  his  arrival  in  London,  Constable  became  ac- 
quainted with  John  Thomas  Smith,  known  then  as  a clever 
draughtsman,  engraver,  and  local  antiquary;  since  more 
generally,  I cannot  say  better , known  as  the  writer  of  the 
Life  of  Nollekins.  Constable’s  intercourse  with  “ Antiquity 
Smith,”  as  he  was  called,  tended,  no  doubt,  to  strengthen 
that  fondness  for  localities  which  had  so  much  to  do  with, 
if  indeed  it  was  not  the  basis  of  his  art;  and  it  may  be  in- 
ferred that  the  advice  he  received  from  his  new  friend  was 
generally  sound,  from  the  following  specimen.  “ Do  not,” 
said  Smith,  “ set  about  inventing  figures  for  a landscape 

1 This  little  treasure  is  now  in  the  National  Gallery,  where  it  is  called 
“ The  Annunciation;  ” but  the  spring  by  which  the  female  is  seated, 
and  the  action  of  the  angel  who  points  to  the  buildings  in  the  distance, 
leaves  little  doubt  that  Claude’s  intention  was  to  represent  the  first 
flight  of  Hagar  from  the  presence  of  her  mistress. 


6 


Life  of  Constable 

taken  from  nature;  for  you  cannot  remain  an  hour  in  any 
spot,  however  solitary,  without  the  appearance  of  some 
living  thing  that  will  in  all  probability  accord  better  with 
the  scene  and  time  of  day  than  will  any  invention  of  your 
own.”  Often  has  Constable,  in  our  walks  together,  taken 
occasion  to  point  out,  from  what  we  saw,  the  good  sense 
of  Smith’s  advice. 

Constable’s  time  was  now  divided  between  London  and 
Bergholt;  and  the  following  passages  from  the  letters  he 
wrote  from  the  country  to  Smith  show  what  were  some  of 
his  occupations  for  the  next  two  years.  “ October  27th,  1796. 
As  the  evenings  are  now  long,  I find  great  pleasure  in  reading 
the  books  I brought  home  with  me,  particularly  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  and  Count  Algarotti.  I should  feel  obliged  to  you, 
when  you  make  up  the  parcel  which  I mentioned,  if  you 
would  enclose  Gessner’s  Essay  on  Landscape.  I devote  all 
my  evenings  to  the  study  of  anatomy.”  “ January  16th, 
1797.  You  flatter  me  highly  respecting  my  ‘ Cottages,’ 
and  I am  glad  you  have  found  one  or  two  amongst  them 
worthy  of  your  needle.1  I am  obliged  to  you  for  the  direc- 
tions you  sent  me  for  etching,  but  they  were  not  exactly 
what  I meant.  What  I fear  I am  deficient  in  is  the  biting.  I 
have  lately  copied  Tempesta’s  large  battle,  and  painted  two 
small  pictures  in  oil,  viz.  a ‘ Chymist  ’ and  an  ‘ Alchymist,’ 
for  which  I am  chiefly  indebted  to  our  immortal  bard.  You 
remember  Romeo’s  account  of  an  apothecary’s  shop.  I have 
a great  mind  to  copy  one  of  Ruysdael’s  etchings.  I have 
seen  one  at  your  house  where  there  are  two  trees  standing 
in  the  water,  and  there  is  one  your  father  copied:  either  of 
these  I should  like  very  much,  but  as  they  are  scarce  and 
dear,  perhaps  you  would  not  like  to  trust  them ; if  not,  send 
me  any  others.  I want  to  know  if  it  is  possible  to  take  the 
proofs  of  the  plates  myself.” 

The  little  pictures  of  the  “ Chymist  ” and  the  “ Alchymist  ” 
mentioned  in  this  letter  have  very  little  merit.  Constable 
probably  intended  a moral  by  the  ragged  and  poverty-struck 
appearance  of  the  alchymist,  while  the  chymist  is  neat  and 
comfortable;  but  if  he  had  as  yet  produced  nothing  better, 
it  is  not  surprising  that  his  own  pursuits  were  regarded  by  his 
friends  much  in  the  same  light  with  those  of  his  alchymist. 

1 Smith  was  publishing  a series  of  etchings  of  picturesque  cottages, 
and  some  of  Constable’s  letters  to  him  contained  sketches  of  cottages. 


At  the  Royal  Academy  7 

In  a letter  to  Smith,  dated  March  2nd,  1797,  he  says,  “ I 
must  now  take  your  advice  and  attend  to  my  father’s  busi- 
ness, as  we  are  likely  soon  to  lose  an  old  servant  (our  clerk), 
who  has  been  with  us  eighteen  years ; and  now  I see  plainly 
it  will  be  my  lot  to  walk  through  life  in  a path  contrary  to 
that  in  which  my  inclination  would  lead  me.”  The  next 
letter  is  from  Mrs.  Constable  to  Smith:  “East  Bergholt, 
October  1797.  Dear  Sir,  I have  great  pleasure  in  receiving 
a letter  so  warm  in  commendation  of  my  son  John,  as  yours 
of  the  29th  ult.  His  future  conduct  I trust  will  ever  merit 
the  favour  of  your  friendship,  which  I know  he  highly  values. 
Let  me  assure  you,  that  were  you  intimately  acquainted  with 
his  father,  you  would  not  wonder  at  his  having  so  worthy  a 
son.  We  are  anticipating  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  John  at 
home  in  the  course  of  a week  or  ten  days,  to  which  I look 
forward  with  the  hope  that  he  will  attend  to  business,  by 
which  he  will  please  his  father,  and  ensure  his  own  respecta- 
bility and  comfort.” 

How  long  Constable  was  engaged  in  his  father’s  counting- 
house  I know  not;  but  in  the  year  1799  he  had  resumed  the 
pencil,  not  again  to  lay  it  aside;  as  I find  him  thus  writing 
to  Dunthome.  “ London,  February  4th,  1799.  I am  this 
morning  admitted  a student  at  the  Royal  Academy;  the 
figure  which  I drew  for  admittance  was  the  Torso.  I am 
now  comfortably  settled  in  Cecil  Street,  Strand,  No.  23.  I 
shall  begin  painting  as  soon  as  I have  the  loan  of  a sweet 
little  picture  by  Jacob  Ruysdael  to  copy.  Since  I have  been 
in  town  I have  seen  some  remarkably  fine  ones  by  him,  indeed 
I never  saw  him  before;  yet  don’t  think,  by  this,  I am  out 
of  conceit  of  my  own,  of  which  I have  seen  a print,  ’tis  of  the 
same  size  and  reversed.  I shall  not  have  much  to  show  you 
on  my  return,  as  I find  my  time  will  be  more  taken  up  in 
seeing  than  in  painting.  I hope  by  the  time  the  leaves  are 
on  the  trees,  I shall  be  better  qualified  to  attack  them  than 
I was  last  summer.  All  the  time  that  you  can  conveniently 
spare  from  your  business  may  be  happily  spent  in  this  way, 
perhaps  profitably,  at  any  rate  innocently.  . . . Smith’s 

friend,  , has  left  off  painting,  at  least  for  the  present. 

His  whole  time  and  thoughts  are  occupied  in  exhibiting  an 
old,  rusty,  fusty  head,  with  a spike  in  it,  which  he  declares 
to  be  the  real  embalmed  head  of  Oliver  Cromwell?  where 
he  got  it  I know  not;  ’tis  to  be  seen  in  Bond  Street,  at  half 


8 


Life  of  Constable 


a crown  admittance.  How  goes  on  the  lay  figure  ? 1 I hope 
to  see  it  finished  when  I return,  together  with  some  drawings 
of  your  own  from  nature.” 

I have  seen  no  studies  made  by  Constable  at  the  Academy 
from  the  antique,  but  many  chalk  drawings  and  oil  paintings 
from  the  living  model,  all  of  which  have  great  breadth  of 
light  and  shade,  though  they  are  sometimes  defective  in 
outline. 

On  the  1 8th  of  August  he  writes  to  Smith  from  Ipswich: 
“ I believe  I may  be  here  a fortnight  longer.  It  is  a most 
delightful  country  for  a painter.  I fancy  I see  Gainsborough 
in  every  hedge  and  hollow  tree.”  2 

In  a letter  to  Dunthome  from  London,  without  date,  but 
probably  written  in  the  winter  of  this  year,  Constable  says: 
“ I paint  by  all  the  daylight  we  have,  and  that  is  little  enough. 
I sometimes  see  the  sky,  but  imagine  to  yourself  how  a pearl 
must  look  through  a burnt  glass.  I employ  my  evenings  in 
making  drawings  and  in  reading,  and  I hope  by  the  former 
to  clear  my  rent.  If  I can  I shall  be  very  happy.  Our 
friend  Smith  has  offered  to  take  any  of  my  pictures  into  his 
shop  for  sale.  He  is  pleased  to  find  I am  reasonable  in  my 
prices.” 

In  another  letter,  to  the  same  correspondent,  without  date, 
he  says:  “ I have  copied  a small  landscape  of  A.  Caracci 
and  two  Wilsons,  and  have  done  some  little  things  of  my 
own.  I have  likewise  begun  to  copy  a very  fine  picture  by 
Ruysdael,  which  Mr.  Reinagle  and  myself  have  purchased  in 
partnership  for  £70.  . . . I hope  to  see  you  in  the  spring, 
when  the  cuckoos  have  picked  up  all  the  dirt.  Every  fine 
day  makes  me  long  for  a walk  on  the  commons.  ...  I 
have  finished  my  copy  from  Ruysdael,  all  but  the  glazing, 
which  cannot  be  done  till  the  picture  is  dry.  It  has  been 
roasting  in  the  sun  these  two  or  three  days.  To-morrow  I 
hope  to  go  on  with  my  copy  from  Sir  George  Beaumont’s 
little  Claude.3  I shall  remain  in  town  the  chief  of  this 
summer.  Indeed  I find  it  necessary  to  fag  at  copying,  some 

1 Mr.  Dunthorne,  who  was  a man  of  much  ingenuity,  had  undertaken 
to  make  a lay  figure. 

a Gainsborough  was  a native  of  the  southern  border  of  Suffolk.  He 
was  bom  at  Sudbury,  about  fourteen  miles  from  Bergholt;  and  his 
earliest  studies,  like  those  of  Constable,  were  from  the  pastoral  scenery 
of  the  Stour.  Before  he  settled  in  London  he  resided  for  some  time  at 
Ipswich. 

3 The  “ Hagar.” 


Helmingham  and  Derbyshire  9 

time  yet,  to  acquire  execution.  The  more  facility  of  practice 
I get,  the  more  pleasure  I shall  find  in  my  art ; without  the 
power  of  execution  I should  be  continually  embarrassed,  and 
it  would  be  a burthen  to  me.  This  fine  weather  almost 
makes  me  melancholy;  it  recalls  so  forcibly  every  scene  we 
have  visited  and  drawn  together.  I even  love  every  stile  and 
stump,  and  every  lane  in  the  village,  so  deep-rooted  are  early 
impressions.”  In  a letter,  probably  subsequent  to  these,  he 
says,  “ My  visit  to  the  Whalleys  1 has  done  me  a world  of 
good.  The  regularity  and  good  example  in  all  things,  which 
I had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  practised  (not  talked  of  only), 
during  my  stay  with  that  dear  family,  will,  I trust,  be  of 
service  to  me  as  long  as  I live.  I find  my  mind  much  more 
decided  and  firm;  and  since  I have  been  this  time  in  town, 
I have  acquired,  considerably,  what  I have  so  long  and  so 
ardently  desired,  patience  in  the  pursuit  of  my  profession. 
I know  very  little  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  arts,  but  I have 
free  admission  to  Mr.  Bryan’s  picture-room,  where  are  some 
fine  works,  particularly  some  landscapes  by  Gaspar;  I visit 
this  once  a week  at  least.” 

“ (Month  illegible),  1800.  Dear  Dunthome,  Here  I am 
quite  alone  among  the  oaks  and  solitudes  of  Helmingham 
Park.  I have  taken  quiet  possession  of  the  parsonage, 
finding  it  empty.  A woman  comes  from  the  farm  house, 
where  I eat,  and  makes  my  bed,  and  I am  left  at  liberty 
to  wander  where  I please  during  the  day.  There  are  abun- 
dance of  fine  trees  of  all  sorts,  and  the  park  on  the  whole 
affords  good  objects  rather  than  fine  scenery.  But  I can 
hardly  judge  yet  what  I may  have  to  show  you.  I have 
made  one  or  two  drawings  that  may  be  useful.” 

Two  of  these  drawings,  dated  July  23rd  and  24th,  are  in 
my  possession,  and  though  slight  and  merely  in  black  and 
white,  they  show  that  he  at  that  time  possessed  a true  sense 
of  the  beautiful  in  composition.  In  the  year  1801,  it  appears 
by  one  of  his  sketch  books,  he  visited  Derbyshire.  The 
sketches  he  made  there,  like  those  at  Helmingham,  are 
slight  and  general.  They  are  washed  in  one  tint  only,  and 
with  no  attempt  at  the  beautiful  finish  or  force  of  chiaroscuro 
seen  in  his  later  studies. 

“ 1801.  Dear  Dunthorne,  ...  I have  got  three  rooms 
in  a very  comfortable  house,  No.  50,  Rathbone  Place.  My 
1 Mrs.  Whalley  was  Constable’s  second  sister. 


io  Life  of  Constable 

large  room  has  three  windows  in  front.  I shall  make  that 
my  shop,  having  the  light  from  the  upper  part  of  the  middle 
window,  and  by  that  means  I shall  get  my  easel  in  a good 
situation.  I hope  to  be  able  to  keep  more  to  myself  than  I 
did  in  former  times,  in  London.  I have  been  among  my  old 
acquaintances  in  the  art,  and  am  enough  disgusted  (between 
ourselves)  with  their  cold  trumpery  stuff.  The  more  canvas 
they  cover,  the  more  they  discover  their  ignorance  and 

total  want  of  feeling.  ...  I have  seen  twice. 

He  has  painted  a ‘ Landscape,  Dedham,’  from  the  sketch  he 
took  from  Mrs.  Roberts’.  He  calls  it  his  best  picture. 
It  is  very  well  pencilled,  and  there  is  plenty  of  light  without 
any  light  at  all” 

“ Rathbone  Place,  January  8th,  1802.  Dear  Dunthome, 
. . . About  a fortnight  back,  I was  so  fully  in  the  hope  of 
making  an  immediate  visit  to  Bergholt  that  I deferred 
writing.  I then  knew  nothing  of  the  anatomical  lectures  1 
which  I am  at  present  attending,  and  which  will  be  over  in 
about  a week  or  ten  days.  I am  so  much  more  interested  in 
the  study  than  I expected,  and  feel  my  mind  so  generally 
enlarged  by  it,  that  I congratulate  myself  on  being  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  attended  these  lectures.  Excepting 
astronomy,  and  that  I know  little  of,  I believe  no  study  is 
really  so  sublime,  or  goes  more  to  carry  the  mind  to  the 
Divine  Architect.  Indeed  the  whole  machine  which  it  has 
pleased  God  to  form  for  the  accommodation  of  the  real  man, 
the  mind,  during  its  probation  in  this  vale  of  tears,  is  as 
wonderful  as  the  contemplation  of  it  is  affecting.  I see, 
however,  many  instances  of  the  truth,  and  a melancholy 
truth  it  is,  that  a knowledge  of  the  things  created  does  not 
always  lead  to  a veneration  of  the  Creator.  Many  of  the 
young  men  in  this  theatre  are  reprobates. 

“ I have  done  little  in  the  painting  art  since  I have  been 
in  town  yet.  A copy  of  a portrait  and  a background  to  an 
ox  for  Miss  Linwood  is  all.  I have  not  time  to  say  half  I 
could  wish  about  my  Derbyshire  excursion,  therefore,  I will 
say  nothing.” 

1 Delivered  by  Mr.  Brookes  at  his  Anatomical  Theatre.  To  these 
lectures,  and  to  his  dissecting  room,  Mr.  Brookes,  very  liberally,  gave 
the  students  of  the  Royal  Academy  free  admission.  Many  extremely 
accurate  and  beautiful  coloured  drawings,  of  a large  size,  made  by 
Constable  at  this  time,  from  dissections,  bear  evidence  of  the  interest 
with  which  he  pursued  the  study  of  anatomy. 


Samuel  Strowger  1 1 

In  1802,  Constable’s  name  appeared  for  the  first  time  in 
the  catalogue  of  the  exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy  as  an 
exhibitor;  the  picture  being  merely  called  “ Landscape.” 
I think  it  likely,  however,  he  may  have  sent  pictures  for 
exhibition  in  1800  or  1801,  or  in  both  years,  which  were  re- 
jected; as  in  a letter,  apparently  written  in  the  winter  of  1799,, 
he  speaks  of  preparing  some  little  thing  for  the  exhibition. 

Those  of  my  brother  artists  who  remember  the  Academy 
twenty  years  ago  will  not  have  forgotten  Samuel  Strowger, 
the  most  symmetrical  of  models  in  the  Life  School,  and  the 
best  of  servants  to  the  Institution.  He  was  a Suffolk  man, 
and  had  worked  on  a farm  in  Constable’s  neighbourhood,, 
where  he  was  distinguished  in  the  country  phrase  as  “ a 
beautiful  ploughman,”  until  he  enlisted  in  the  Life  Guards, 
when  his  strict  attention  to  his  duties  soon  acquired  for  him 
the  character  of  the  best  man  in  his  regiment.  The  models 
of  the  Academy  are  generally  selected  from  these  fine  troops ; 
Sam  was  chosen,  and  the  grace  of  his  attitudes,  his  intel- 
ligence and  steadiness,  induced  the  Academy  to  procure  his 
discharge,  and  to  place  him  in  the  Institution  as  head  porter 
and  occasional  model.  Sam  and  Constable,  who  had  known 
each  other  in  Suffolk,  were  thus  brought  together  again  in 
London;  and  Strowger  showed  his  readiness  to  patronise  his 
old  acquaintance,  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  by  interceding, 
when  he  could  venture  to  do  so,  during  the  arrangements 
of  the  exhibitions,  in  behalf  of  his  works.  As  they-  were 
generally  views  in  Suffolk,  they  had  peculiar  charms  in 
Sam’s  eyes,  and  he  could  vouch  for  the  accuracy  with  which 
they  represented  all  the  operations  of  farming.  He  was 
captivated  by  one  of  them,  a “ Corn  Field  with  reapers  at 
work,”  and  pointed  out  to  the  arranging  committee  its 
correctness,  “ the  lord ,”  as  the  leading  man  among  reapers 
and  mowers  is  called  in  Suffolk,  being  in  due  advance  of  the 
rest.  But  with  all  his  endeavours  to  serve  his  friend  the 
picture  was  either  rejected  or  not  so  well  placed  as  he  wished, 
and  he  consoled  Constable,  and  at  the  same  time  apologised 
for  the  members  of  the  committee,  by  saying,  “ Our  gentle- 
men are  all  great  artists,  sir,  but  they  none  of  them  know 
anything  about  the  lord” 

I cannot  take  leave  of  my  old  friend  Strowger  without 
mentioning  that  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  the  students  of 
the  Academy  presented  him  with  a silver  snuff-box  of  huge 


Life  of  Constable 


i 2 

dimensions;  and  that  a very  exact  portrait  of  him  in  his 
best  days  was  painted  by  Wilkie.  It  is  the  head  of  the 
intelligent  farmer  in  the  “ Rent  Day/’  who,  seated  at  the 
table  with  his  finger  raised,  appears  to  be  recalling  some 
circumstance  to  the  recollection  of  the  steward. 

I have  heard  Constable  say  that  under  some  disappoint- 
ment, I think  it  was  the  rejection,  at  the  Academy,  of  a view 
of  Flatford  Mill,  he  carried  a picture  to  Mr.  West,  who  said, 
“ Don’t  be  disheartened,  young  man,  we  shall  hear  of  you 
again;  you  must  have  loved  nature  very  much  before  you 
could  have  painted  this.”  He  then  took  a piece  of  chalk, 
and  showed  Constable  how  he  might  improve  the  chiaroscuro 
by  some  additional  touches  of  light  between  the  stems  and 
branches  of  the  trees,  saying,  “ Always  remember,  sir,  that 
light  and  shadow  never  stand  still”  Constable  said  it  was 
the  best  lecture,  because  a practical  one,  on  chiaroscuro 
he  ever  heard.  Mr.  West,  at  the  same  time,  said  to  him, 
“ Whatever  object  you  are  painting,  keep  in  mind  its  pre- 
vailing character  rather  than  its  accidental  appearance 
(unless  in  the  subject  there  is  some  peculiar  reason  for  the 
latter),  and  never  be  content  until  you  have  transferred  that 
to  canvas.  In  your  skies,  for  instance,  always  aim  at 
brightness , although  there  are  states  of  the  atmosphere  in 
which  the  sky  itself  is  not  bright.  I do  not  mean  that  you 
are  not  to  paint  solemn  or  lowering  skies,  but  even  in  the 
darkest  effects  there  should  be  brightness.  Your  darks 
should  look  like  the  darks  of  silver,  not  of  lead  or  of  slate.” 
This  advice  was  not  addressed  to  an  inattentive  ear. 

Constable  acknowledged  many  obligations  to  the  amiable 
President  of  the  Academy,  in  whom  every  young  artist 
found  a friend;  but  the  greatest  was  one  which  possibly 
affected  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  In  the  spring  of  1802, 
Dr.  Fisher,  Rector  of  Langham,  and  afterwards  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  had  procured  for  him  the  situation  of  a drawing- 
master  in  a school;  but  Mr.  West  strongly  dissuaded  him 
from  accepting  it,  telling  him  that  if  he  did  so  he  must  give 
up  all  hopes  of  distinction.  Such  advice,  and  from  so  high 
an  authority,  was  very  agreeable  to  Constable ; the  difficulty, 
however,  remained,  of  declining  Dr.  Fisher’s  well-intentioned 
offer  without  giving  him  offence,  which  Mr.  West  undertook 
and  easily  accomplished.  To  this  affair  Constable  alludes 
in  the  next  letter. 


Voyage  from  London  to  Deal  13 

“ London,  May  29th,  1802.  My  dear  Dunthome,  I hope 
I have  now  done  with  the  business  that  brought  me  to  town 
with  Dr.  Fisher.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  had  I accepted 
the  situation  offered,  it  would  have  been  a death-blow  to  all 
my  prospects  of  perfection  in  the  art  I love.  For  these  few 
weeks  past,  I believe  I have  thought  more  seriously  of  my 
profession  than  at  any  other  time  of  my  life;  of  that  which 
is  the  surest  way  to  excellence.  I am  just  returned  from  a 
visit  to  Sir  George  Beaumont’s  pictures  with  a deep  convic- 
tion of  the  truth  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’  observation,  that 
‘ there  is  no  easy  way  of  becoming  a good  painter.’  For 
the  last  two  years  I have  been  running  after  pictures,  and 
seeking  the  truth  at  second  hand.  I have  not  endeavoured 
to  represent  nature  with  the  same  elevation  of  mind  with 
which  I set  out,  but  have  rather  tried  to  make  my  perform- 
ances look  like  the  work  of  other  men.  I am  come  to  a 
determination  to  make  no  idle  visits  this  summer,  nor  to  give 
up  my  time  to  commonplace  people.  I shall  return  to 
Bergholt,  where  I shall  endeavour  to  get  a pure  and  unaffected 
manner  of  representing  the  scenes  that  may  employ  me. 
There  is  little  or  nothing  in  the  exhibition  worth  looking  up 
to.  There  is  room  enough  for  a natural  painter.  The  great 
vice  of  the  present  day  is  bravura,  an  attempt  to  do  some- 
thing beyond  the  truth.  Fashion  always  had,  and  will  have, 
its  day;  but  truth  in  all  things  only  will  last,  and  can  only 
have  just  claims  on  posterity.  I have  reaped  considerable 
benefit  from  exhibiting;  it  shows  me  where  I am,  and  in  fact 
tells  me  what  nothing  else  could.” 

In  1803,  Constable  exhibited  at  the  Academy  two  “ Land- 
scapes ” and  two  “ Studies  from  Nature;  ” and  in  April  he 
made  a trip  from  London  to  Deal,  in  the  Coutts,  East  India- 
man,  with  Captain  Torin,  a friend  of  his  father. 

“ London,  May  23rd,  1803.  Dear  Dunthorne,  I have  for 
some  time  felt  a weight  on  my  mind  from  having  so  long 
neglected  writing  to  you.  Indeed  there  is  this  strange 
fatality  about  me,  that  I seem  to  neglect  those  whose  love 
and  friendship  I most  value.  . . . My  voyage  I will  mention 
first.  I was  near  a month  on  board,  and  was  much  employed 
in  making  drawings  of  ships  in  all  situations.  I saw  all  sorts 
of  weather.  Some  the  most  delightful,  and  some  as  melan- 
choly. But  such  is  the  enviable  state  of  a painter  that  he 
finds  delight  in  every  dress  nature  can  possibly  assume. 


Life  of  Constable 


H 

When  the  ship  was  at  Gravesend,  I took  a walk  on  shore  to 
Rochester  and  Chatham.  Their  situation  is  beautiful  and 
romantic,  being  at  the  bottom  of  finely  formed  and  high 
hills,  with  the  river  continually  showing  its  turnings  to  great 
advantage.  Rochester  Castle  is  one  of  the  most  romantic  I 
ever  saw.  At  Chatham  I hired  a boat  to  see  the  men-of-war, 
which  are  there  in  great  numbers.  I sketched  the  Victory 
in  three  views.  She  was  the  flower  of  the  flock,  a three 
decker  of  (some  say)  112  guns.  She  looked  very  beautiful, 
fresh  out  of  dock  and  newly  painted.  When  I saw  her  they 
were  bending  the  sails ; which  circumstance,  added  to  a very 
fine  evening,  made  a charming  effect.  On  my  return  to 
Rochester,  I made  a drawing  of  the  Cathedral,  which  is  in 
some  parts  very  picturesque,  and  is  of  Saxon  architecture. 
I joined  the  ship  again  at  Gravesend,  and  we  proceeded  on 
our  voyage,  which  was  pleasant  enough  till  we  got  out  to 
sea,  when  we  were  joined  by  three  more  large  ships.  We 
had  almost  reached  the  Downs  when  the  weather  became 
stormy,  and  we  all  put  back  under  the  North  Foreland,  and 
lay  there  three  days.  Here  I saw  some  very  grand  effects  of 
stormy  clouds.  I came  on  shore  at  Deal,  walked  to  Dover, 
and  the  next  day  returned  to  London.  The  worst  part  of 
the  story  is  that  I have  lost  all  my  drawings.  The  ship  was 
such  a scene  of  confusion,  when  I left  her,  that  although  I 
had  done  my  drawings  up  very  carefully,  I left  them  behind. 
When  I found,  on  landing,  that  I had  left  them,  and  saw  the 
ship  out  of  reach,  I was  ready  to  faint.  I hope,  however,  I 
may  see  them  again  some  time  or  other.  Now  I think  I 
must  have  tired  you,  and  I will  change  the  subject. 

“ The  exhibition  is  a very  indifferent  one  on  the  whole. 
In  the  landscape  way  most  miserable.  I saw,  as  I thought, 
a great  many  pictures  by  Sir  F.  Bourgeois,  but  it  proved 
that  not  half  of  them  belonged  to  him,  but  to  another  painter 
who  has  imitated  his  manner  exactly.  Sir  Francis  was  the 
hangman,  and  was  so  flattered  by  these  imitations  that  he 
has  given  them  as  good  places  as  his  own.  There  are,  how- 
ever, some  good  portraits  in  the  exhibition.  I have  seen 
some  fine  pictures  lately,  and  have  made  a few  little  pur- 
chases; twelve  prints  by  Waterloo,  and  four  fine  drawings 
by  him,  with  some  other  prints.  But  my  best  purchases 
are  two  charming  little  landscapes  by  Gaspar  Poussin,  in  his 
best  time.  ...  I feel  now,  more  than  ever,  a decided  con- 


Altar-piece  for  Brantham  Church  i 5 

viction  that  I shall  sometime  or  other  make  some  good 
pictures.  Pictures  that  shall  be  valuable  to  posterity,  if  I 
reap  not  the  benefit  of  them.  This  hope,  added  to  the  great 
delight  I find  in  the  art  itself,  buoys  me  up,  and  makes  me 
pursue  it  with  ardour. 

“ Panorama  painting  seems  all  the  rage.  There  are  four 

or  five  now  exhibiting,  and  Mr.  R is  coming  out  with 

another,  a view  of  Rome,  which  I have  seen.  I should  think 
he  has  taken  his  view  favourably,  and  it  is  executed  with  the 
greatest  care  and  fidelity.  This  style  of  painting  suits  his 
ideas  of  the  art  itself,  and  his  defects  are  not  so  apparent  in 
it;  that  is,  great  principles  are  neither  expected  nor  looked 
for  in  this  mode  of  describing  nature.1  He  views  nature 
minutely  and  cunningly,  but  with  no  greatness  or  breadth. 
The  defects  of  the  picture  at  present  are  a profusion  of  high 
lights,  and  too  great  a number  of  abrupt  patches  of  shadow. 
But  it  is  not  to  be  considered  as  a whole.  ...  I shall  soon 
be  at  home  again.  The  weather  is  not,  however,  very 
tempting,  and  while  I find  so  much  to  interest  me,  at  this 
busy  time  of  the  Arts,  in  London,  I shall  stay  a week  or  two 
longer.” 

Constable  was  fortunate  enough  to  recover  his  marine 
sketches,  about  130,  and  the  use  he  made  of  his  drawings  of 
the  Victory  will  be  seen  immediately. 

Between  this  period  and  1807,  no  letters  either  to  or  from 
Constable  have  reached  my  hands.  In  1804  he  did  not 
exhibit,  but  he  painted  an  Altar-piece  for  Brantham  Church 
near  Bergholt,  the  subject,  “ Christ  blessing  little  Children.” 
The  figures  are  of  the  size  of  life,  and  all  standing,  except  a 
child  in  the  Saviour’s  arms.  The  arrangement  of  the  masses 
is  good,  but  it  has  no  other  merit;  and  indeed  is  no  other- 
wise worthy  of  notice  than  as  a proof  that  he  did  wisely, 
after  one  more  attempt,  in  making  no  farther  incursions  into 
this  walk  of  the  art.  In  1805  he  exhibited  a “ Landscape, 

I Moonlight,”  and  in  1806,  a drawing  of  “ His  Majesty’s  Ship 
Victory  in  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  between  two  French  Ships 
! of  the  Line.”  This  subject  was  suggested  to  him  by  hearing 
I an  account  of  the  battle  from  a Suffolk  man,  who  had  been 
| on  Nelson’s  ship. 

1 Sir  George  Beaumont  was  of  opinion,  and,  perhaps  with  some 
reason,  that  the  effect  of  panorama  painting  has  been  injurious  to  the 
taste,  both  of  the  artists  and  the  public,  in  landscape. 


1 6 Life  of  Constable 

In  this  year  his  maternal  uncle,  David  Pike  Watts,  recom- 
mended to  him  a tour  in  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland  in 
search  of  subjects  for  his  pencil,  and  paid  his  expenses.  He 
spent  about  two  months  among  the  English  lakes  and 
mountains,  where  he  made  a great  number  of  sketches,  of  a 
large  size,  on  tinted  paper,  sometimes  in  black  and  white, 
but  more  often  coloured.  They  abound  in  grand  and  solemn 
effects  of  light,  shade,  and  colour,  but  from  these  studies  he 
never  painted  any  considerable  picture,  for  his  mind  was 
formed  for  the  enjoyment  of  a different  class  of  landscape. 
I have  heard  him  say  the  solitude  of  mountains  oppressed  his 
spirits.  His  nature  was  peculiarly  social  and  could  not  feel 
satisfied  with  scenery,  however  grand  in  itself,  that  did 
not  abound  in  human  associations.  He  required  villages, 
churches,  farm-houses,  and  cottages;  and  I believe  it  was  as 
much  from  natural  temperament  as  from  early  impressiQns 
that  his  first  love,  in  landscape,  was  also  his  latest  love.  In 
1807  he  exhibited  some  of  the  results  of  his  excursion;  “A 
View  in  Westmoreland,”  “ Keswick  Lake,”  and  “ Bow  Fell, 
Cumberland.” 

The  Earl  of  Dysart  wishing  to  have  some  family  pictures 
copied,  Constable  was  introduced  to  his  lordship  and  the 
Countess  as  a young  artist  who  would  be  glad  to  undertake 
them.  The  consequence  was,  his  being  employed  in  making 
a number  of  copies,  chiefly  from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds;  and 
although  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  much  of  his  time  should 
have  been  spent  on  any  but  original  works,  yet  he  no  doubt 
derived  improvement  in  his  taste  for  colour  and  chiaroscuro 
by  this  intimate  communion  with  so  great  a master  of  both. 

About  this  time  his  mother,  at  the  conclusion  of  a letter  to 
him,  says:  “ How  thankful  I am  that  you  so  much  enjoy  the 
invaluable  blessing  of  health.  It  is,  I trust,  the  kind  gift  of 
Providence,  rendered  the  more  permanent  by  your  own 
prudence  and  good  conduct.  Long  may  you  enjoy  it  on 
such  terms ! ” And  his  uncle,  Mr.  Watts,  thus  speaks  of  him 
at  the  same  period:  “ J.  C.  is  industrious  in  his  profession, 
temperate  in  diet,  plain  in  dress,  frugal  in  expenses,  and  in 
his  professional  character  has  great  merit.” 

In  1808  he  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy,  three  pictures, 
“ Borrowdale,”  “ A Scene  in  Cumberland,”  and  “ Winder- 
mere  Lake,”  and  at  the  British  Gallery,  “ A Scene  in  West- 
moreland,” probably  the  one  he  had  exhibited  at  the  Academy 


Altar-piece  for  Neyland  Church  17 

the  preceding  year,  and  “ Moonlight  (a  Study).”  In  1809 
his  pictures  at  the  Academy  were  three,  with  the  title  merely 
of  “ Landscape;  ” and  at  the  British  Gallery  he  had  also 
three,  “ Borrowdale,”  “ A Cottage,”  and  “ Keswick  Lake,” 
the  latter  having  been  exhibited  at  the  Academy. 

In  this  year  he  painted  his  second  and  last  attempt  in 
sacred  history,  an  altar-piece  for  Neyland  Church,  a single 
half  figure  of  the  Saviour  blessing  the  bread  and  wine. 
Although,  from  the  slightness  of  the  execution,  this  picture 
can  only  be  considered  as  a sketch  of  the  size  of  life,  it  is 
in  all  respects  much  better  than  the  Brantham  altar-piece. 
There  is  no  originality  in  the  treatment,  but  a subject  so 
often  painted  almost  precludes  originality.  The  light  falls 
on  the  face  from  a lamp,  and  the  colour  and  effect  are  very 
agreeable,  broken  colours  partaking  of  purple  and  brownish 
yellow  being  substituted  in  the  draperies  for  the  ordinary 
blue  and  red.  Still,  such  are  its  deficiencies,  that  it  is 
evident  a long  course  of  study  and  practice  would  have  been 
required  before  he  could  have  done  justice,  if  ever,  to  subjects 
of  its  class. 

In  1810  he  exhibited  at  the  Academy  “ A Landscape  ” and 
“ A Church-Yard.” 

The  following  passage  in  a letter  from  John  Jackson,  dated 
October  23rd,  1810,  shows  that  Constable’s  friendship  with 
that  eminent  artist  had  then  commenced.  They  were  men 
who  could  fully  appreciate  each  other:  “ I spent  ten  days  in 
Hants,  and  was  delighted  beyond  measure  with  the  New 
Forest.  I think  it  indescribably  beautiful;  but  perhaps  you 
may  have  seen  it.  If  not,  I wish  we  might  find  some 
sequestered  cottage  to  put  our  heads  in  by  night,  and  in  the 
day  explore  and  sketch,  for  a fortnight  or  three  weeks:  but 
more  of  this  when  we  meet.” 

Constable  and  Wilkie  were  also  much  together  at  that  time, 
and  their  friendship  never  suffered  any  diminution.  Constable 
sat  to  Wilkie  for  the  head  of  the  physician  in  his  picture  of 
the  “ Sick  Lady,”  and  again,  in  the  character  of  a physician, 
at  a late  period  of  their  lives ; as  will  be  noticed  in  its  proper 
place. 


B 


CHAPTER  II 
1811-1812 

West’s  Picture  of  “ Christ  healing  the  Sick.”  Constable’s  Art.  Traits 
of  his  Character.  His  Health  affected.  Sir  George  Beaumont’s 
Prescription.  Another  Prescription.  Attachment  to  Miss  Bick- 
nell.  Their  Marriage  objected  to  by  her  Friends.  Visit  of  Miss 
Mary  Constable  to  her  Brother. * Correspondence  with  Miss 
Bicknell.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy,  1812.  Archdeacon 
Fisher.  Mr.  Stothard.  Constable  engaged  on  Portraits.  Fire  at 
his  Lodgings. 

In  1811,  an  extraordinary  event  in  the  history  of  English 
Art  occurred : the  directors  of  the  British  Institution  bought 
West’s  picture  of  “ Christ  healing  the  Sick  ” for  £3000. 
Constable’s  fond  mother,  who  had  seen  this  picture,  after 
saying  she  preferred  the  principal  figure  and  infant  in  her 
son’s  Brantham  altar-piece,  thus  concludes  a letter  to  him: 
“ In  truth,  my  dear  John,  though  in  all  human  probability 
my  head  will  be  laid  low  long  ere  it  comes  to  pass,  yet  with 
my  present  light,  I can  perceive  no  reason  why  you  should 
not,  one  day,  with  diligence  and  attention  be  the  performer 
of  a picture  worth  £3000.” 

In  this  year  he  sent  to  the  Academy  two  pictures,  “ Twi- 
light,” and  “ Dedham  Vale,”  and  to  the  British  Gallery,  “ A 
Church  Porch,”  which  as  well  as  the  “ Dedham  Vale  ” 
remained  in  his  possession  to  the  end  of  his  life,  and  I am 
therefore  well  acquainted  with  them.  The  “ Porch  ” is  that 
of  Bergholt  Church,  and  the  stillness  of  a summer  afternoon 
is  broken  only  by  the  voice  of  an  old  man  to  whom  a woman 
and  girl  sitting  on  one  of  the  tombs  are  listening.  As  in 
many  of  the  finest  Dutch  pictures,  the  fewness  of  the  parts 
constitutes  a charm  in  this  little  work;  such  is  its  extreme 
simplicity,  that  it  has  nothing  to  arrest  attention,  but  when 
once  noticed,  few  pictures  would  longer  detain  a mind  of 
any  sensibility.  I have  heard  the  word  sentiment  ridiculed 
when  applied  to  representations  of  inanimate  objects.  But 
no  other  word  can  express  that  from  which  the  impression 
of  this  picture  results,  independently  of  the  figures.  In  the 
“ Dedham  Vale  ” an  extensive  country  is  seen  through  a 

18 


Traits  of  Character 


!9 

sunny  haze,  which  equalises  the  light,  without  injuring  the 
beauty  of  the  tints.  There  is  a tree  of  a slight  form  in  the 
fore-ground,  touched  with  a taste  to  which  I know  nothing 
equal  in  any  landscape  I ever  saw.  Such  pictures  were, 
however,  too  unobtrusive  for  the  exhibition,  and  Constable’s 
art  had  made  no  impression  whatever  on  the  public.  But 
when  we  look  back  to  the  fate  of  Wilson,  and  recollect  that 
Gainsborough  was  only  saved  from  poverty  by  his  admirable 
powers  in  portraiture,  and  that  the  names  of  Cozens  and 
Girtin  are  scarcely  known  to  their  countrymen,  we  shall  not 
hastily  conclude  that  to  fail  in  attracting  general  notice  is 
any  proof  of  want  of  merit  in  an  English  landscape  painter. 
It  may  be  that  the  art,  so  simple  and  natural,  as  it  is  in  the 
best  works  of  these  extraordinary  men,  becomes  a novelty 
which  people  do  not  know  how  to  estimate;  Steele,  in  a 
paper  of  the  Tatler , speaks  of  an  author  “ who  determined 
to  write  in  a way  perfectly  new,  and  describe  things  exactly 
as  they  happened.” 

Constable’s  father  and  mother  wished  him  to  apply  himself 
to  portrait  painting,  but  he  had  not  the  happiness,  like  Gains- 
borough, to  combine  landscape  and  portrait  in  equal  perfec- 
tion. He  painted  the  latter  indeed,  occasionally,  all  his  life, 
but  with  very  unequal  success;  and  his  best  works  of  this 
kind,  though  always  agreeable  in  colour  and  breadth,  were 
surpassed,  in  more  common  qualities,  by  men  far  inferior  to 
him  in  genius.  His  profession  had  hitherto  been  profitless, 
but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  under  any  circumstances  he 
would  have  become  a rich  man  by  his  own  exertions;  for 
although  he  was  an  early  riser,  frugal  in  his  habits  of  living 
and  not  addicted  to  any  vicious  extravagance  either  of  time 
or  money,  yet  of  neither  was  he  an  economist.  Both  were 
always  too  readily  at  the  disposal  of  others;  it  was  as  difficult 
for  him  to  say  no  to  a borrower,  as  to  shut  his  door  against  a 
lounger,  still  less  could  he  ever  resist  an  appeal  to  his  charity; 
and  if  a book  or  a print  he  wanted  came  in  his  way,  the 
chances  were  he  would  buy  it,  though  with  the  money  that 
should  pay  for  his  next  day’s  dinner.  He  was  well  aware  of 
this  want  of  resolution,  and  often  formed  plans  of  economy, 
but  failing  in  a constant  and  steady  adherence  to  them,  they 
seldom  proved  of  much  real  advantage  to  him. 

It  now  became  apparent  to  Constable’s  friends  that  his 
health  was  declining.  It  was,  I believe,  at  this  time  that 


20 


Life  of  Constable 

Sir  George  Beaumont  undertook  to  be  his  physician,  and 
prescribed  for  him  that  he  should  copy  a picture  entirely 
from  memory.  He  was  to  walk  every  day  to  Sir  George’s 
house  in  Grosvenor  Square,  look  at  the  picture  as  long  as  he 
pleased,  then  return  home  and  paint  as  much  of  it  as  he  had 
retained  in  his  recollection,  until  the  copy  was  finished.  The 
regular  exercise  and  change  of  scene,  combined  with  an  agree- 
able and  not  too  arduous  employment  were  to  work  the  cure. 
The  picture  selected  was  a landscape  by  Wilson,  and  the 
experiment  was  tried,  but  the  malady  under  which  Constable 
laboured  was  not  to  be  so  easily  removed. 

The  following  is  part  of  a very  long  letter  from  a friend, 
who  often  bestowed  advice  on  him  less  judicious  than  well 
intentioned.  It  is  addressed  to  “ J.  C.  aged  thirty-five,” 
which  marks  it  as  belonging  to  this  period.  “ Dear  John, 
I am  sorry  to  see  too  visible  traits  in  your  whole  person  of 
an  inward  anxiety  which  irritates  your  nervous  system, 
deranges  the  digestion,  and  undermines  the  health.  But 
health  alone,  that  invaluable  possession,  is  not  the  sole  thing 
impaired;  the  mental  powers  are  liable  to  participate  in  the 
depression  of  the  animal  system.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of 
even  your  nearest  friend  to  see  into  the  secret  causes  of  the 
operations  of  the  mind;  but  a tolerable  opinion  may  be 
formed  of  what  passes  within  the  thoughts  of  another  person 
by  certain  external  traits.  The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from 
these  is,  that  your  indisposition  arises  from  more  than  one 
cause,  though  one  has  of  late  been  predominant,  and  has 
become  the  main  trouble  which  absorbs  the  minor  ones,  and 
resolves  all  the  subordinate  cares  into  one  overwhelming 
solicitude,  and  this  is  a deep  concern  of  the  heart  and  affec- 
tions.” I will  spare  the  reader  any  more  of  this  letter,  which 
comprises  four  pages  of  the  usual  advice  as  to  the  best  means 
of  combating  a hopeless  passion,  which  is  generally  thrown 
away  on  similar  occasions;  one  page  being  a quotation  from 
“ an  able  divine.”  Enclosed  in  the  letter  I found  a printed 
paper  entitled:  “A  Cure  for  Love.  Take  half  a grain  of 
sense,  half  a grain  of  prudence,”  etc.,  etc. 

Another  long  letter,  from  the  same  kind  mentor,  appears 
to  have  been  written  the  next  day;  and  however  well  meant, 
was  certainly  not  very  well  timed. 

“ Dear  John,  I amused  myself  at  seven  o’clock  this  morn- 
ing, in  transcribing  the  enclosed,  which  I hope  will  amuse 


Attachment  to  Miss  Bicknell 


2 1 

you  more  than  my  yesterday’s  extract.  You  see  I copy  from 
the  great  masters,  whether  in  Divinity,  Morals,  or  the  Arts.1 
I sometimes  wish  you  had  copied  more ; and  that  at  an  early 
age  you  had  put  yourself  under  a great  master.  That  dread 
of  being  a mannerist,  and  that  desire  of  being  an  original,  has 
not,  in  my  imperfect  judgment,  produced  to  you  the  full 
advantage  you  promised  yourself  from  it.  As  far  as  my 
unqualified,  and  simply  native  taste  extends  (which  I 
acknowledge  to  be  very  inadequate  to  form  a correct  judg- 
ment), I had  rather  see  some  of  the  manner  of  those  highly 
extolled  works,  which  have  commanded  the  applause  of  the 
public  at  large,  from  the  perfect  connoisseur  down  to  the 
simple  spectator.  I have  before  taken  the  freedom  to  offer 
my  sentiments  to  you ; you  have  before  paid  me  the  compli- 
ment to  ask  and  receive  them.  I have  no  motive  in  my 
observations  but  your  good,  or  what  I conceive  to  be  so, 
joined  to  a regard  to  truth,  and  an  aversion  to  flattery.  My 
opinion  is,  that  cheerfulness  is  wanted  in  your  landscapes; 
they  are  tinctured  with  a sombre  darkness.  If  I may  say  so, 
the  trees  are  not  green,  but  black ; the  water  is  not  lucid,  but 
over-shadowed;  an  air  of  melancholy  is  cast  over  the  scene, 
instead  of  hilarity,”  etc.  How  must  the  artist  have  writhed 
under  this  friendly  advice,  ill  in  body  and  depressed  in  mind 
as  he  then  was. 

Maria  Bicknell,  the  young  lady  between  whom  and  Con- 
stable there  now  existed  a mutual  attachment,  was  the 
daughter  of  Charles  Bicknell,  Esq.,  of  Spring  Gardens, 
Solicitor  to  the  Admiralty,  and  grand-daughter,  by  her 
mother’s  side,  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rhudde,  Rector  of  Bergholt, 
where  Constable’s  acquaintance  with  her  had  commenced  as 
early  as  the  year  1800,  while  she  was  a child.  Objections  to 
their  union  arose  on  the  part  of  Miss  Bicknell’ s friends,  Dr. 
Rhudde  being  its  chief  opposer.  He  was  probably  unwilling 
that  his  grand-daughter  should  marry  a man  below  herself  in 
point  of  fortune,  and  whom  he  might,  not  unreasonably, 
consider  as  without  a profession,  since  Constable  could 
scarcely  appear  in  any  other  light  to  his  best  friends.  A 

1 1 have  omitted  transcribing  the  enclosure,  nor  should  I have  inter- 
rupted the  narrative  with  any  of  the  effusions  of  this  correspondent, 
but  that  the  reader  may  judge,  from  these  specimens,  of  many  similar 
inflictions  to  which  Constable  was,  for  some  years,  subjected  from  the 
same  quarter.  They  smack  of  the  wisdom,  as  well  as  the  style  of 
Polonius. 


22 


Life  of  Constable 


difference  had  arisen  between  Golding  Constable  and  the 
rector,  which  at  that  time  estranged  them  from  each  other; 
and  there  was  a story  current  in  Bergholt  of  a caricature  of 
the  doctor  by  Constable,  which,  whether  true  or  false,  was 
unfortunate.  How  far  any  or  all  of  these  circumstances 
operated  on  Dr.  Rhudde’s  mind,  or  what  other  objections  he 
may  have  had  to  receive  Constable  as  a grandson-in-law,  I 
know  not,  but  it  became  afterwards  plain  that  Mr.  Bicknell 
would  not  long  have  opposed  the  marriage,  had  it  not  been 
from  fear  of  excluding  his  daughter’s  name  from  the  will  of 
her  grandfather,  who  was  very  rich.  As  it  was,  the  lovers 
were  doomed  for  five  years  to  suffer  all  the  wearing  anxieties 
of  hope  deferred,  of  which  their  own  letters  form  a deeply 
interesting  history. 

The  first  I have  seen  of  this  series  is  from  Miss  Bicknell, 
who  was  on  a visit  at  the  house  of  a friend  in  the  country. 

“Spring  Grove,  Nov.  2,  1811.  My  dear  Sir,  You  have 
grieved  me  exceedingly  by  the  melancholy  account  you  give 
of  your  health,  and  I shall  feel  much  better  satisfied  when  I 
know  you  are  in  Suffolk,  where  I do  not  doubt  that  good  air, 
with  the  nursing  and  attention  of  your  friends,  will  go  a great 
way  towards  your  recovery.  I dare  not  suffer  myself  to  think 
on  your  last  letter.  I am  very  impatient,  as  you  may 
imagine,  to  hear  from  papa,  on  a subject  so  fraught  with 
interest  to  us  both;  but  was  unwilling  to  delay  writing  to 
you,  as  you  would  be  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  such  seeming 
inattention.  I hope  you  will  not  find  that  your  kind  partiality 
to  me  made  you  view  what  passed  in  Spring  Gardens  too 
favourably.  You  know  my  sentiments;  I shall  be  guided 
by  my  father  in  every  respect.  Should  he  acquiesce  in  my 
wishes,  I shall  be  happier  than  I can  express.  If  not,  I shall 
have  the  consolation  of  reflecting  that  I am  pleasing  him,  a 
charm  that  will  in  the  end  give  the  greatest  satisfaction  to 
my  mind.  I cannot  write  any  more  till  the  wished,  but 
fearfully  dreaded,  letter  arrives.  With  the  most  ardent 
wishes  for  your  health,  believe  me,  my  dear  Sir,  your  obliged 
friend,  Maria  E.  Bicknell.” 

Constable’s  fond  mother,  who,  from  the  commencement  of 
his  attachment  to  Miss  Bicknell,  entered  warmly  into  all  his 
feelings  on  the  subject,  thus  replied  to  a letter  she  had 
received  from  him: 

“East  Bergholt,  Nov.  3,  1811.  Your  letter  of  the  31st 


Objections  to  Marriage  23 

ult.  pleases  me,  because  it  tells  me  you  are  £ far  better.’  But 
you  cannot  imagine  how  you  have  surprised  and  filled  me 
with  conjecture  by  saying  ‘ I have  been  kindly  received  by 
the  Bicknells  this  morning,  and  my  mind  is  in  some  measure 
quieted.  I have  Mr.  Bicknell’s  permission  to  write  to  Miss 
Bicknell,  which  I have  done  this  afternoon.’  Now,  my  dear 
son,  what  may  be  augured  from  this?  I pray  it  may  prove 
favourable.  They  are  too  good,  and  too  honourable,  to  trifle 
with  your  feelings;  therefore  I am  inclined  to  hope  for  the 
best,  and  that  it  will  end  well.” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable,  Spring  Grove,  Nov.  4.  I have 
received  my  father’s  letter.  It  is  precisely  such  a one  as  I 
expected,  reasonable  and  kind;  his  only  objection  would  be 
on  the  score  of  that  necessary  evil  money.  What  can  we 
do?  I wish  I had  it,  but  wishes  are  vain;  we  must  be  wise, 
and  leave  off  a correspondence  that  is  not  calculated  to  make 
us  think  less  of  each  other.  We  have  many  painful  trials 
required  of  us  in  this  life,  and  we  must  learn  to  bear  them 
with  resignation.  You  will  still  be  my  friend,  and  I will  be 
yours.  Then,  as  such,  let  me  advise  you  to  go  into  Suffolk, 
you  cannot  fail  to  be  better  there.  I have  written  to  papa, 
though  I do  not,  in  conscience,  think  he  can  retract  anything 
he  has  said;  if  so,  I had  better  not  write  to  you  any  more, 
at  least  till  I can  coin.  We  should  both  of  us  be  bad  subjects 
for  poverty,  should  we  not?  Even  painting  would  go  on 
badly;  it  could  hardly  survive  in  domestic  worry.  I hope 
you  have  done  a good  deal  this  summer;  Salisbury,  I suppose, 
has  furnished  some  sketches.  You  are  particularly  fortunate 
in  possessing  the  affectionate  esteem  of  so  kind  and  excellent 
a man  as  Mr.  Watts,  whose  wishes  you  must  consult  on  this 
most  important  point.  Remember,  dear  sir,  if  you  wish  to 
oblige  me  and  all  your  friends,  it  must  be  by  taking  care  of 
your  health.  Adieu,  and  think  me  always  sincerely  yours, 
M.E.B.” 

Constable,  however,  abated  not  “ a jot  of  heart  or  hope.” 
“ Be  assured,”  he  wrote  to  her,  “ we  have  only  to  consider 
our  union  as  an  event  that  must  happen,  and  we  shall  yet  be 
happy.”  To  this  she  replied,  “ You  grieve  and  surprise  me 
by  continuing  so  sanguine  on  a subject  altogether  hopeless. 
I cannot  endure  that  you  should  harbour  expectations  that 
must  terminate  in  disappointment.  I never  can  consent  to 
act  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  my  father;  how  then  can  I 


24  Life  of  Constable 

continue  a correspondence  wholly  disapproved  of  by  him? 
He  tells  me  that  I am  consulting  your  happiness  as  well  as 
my  own  by  putting  an  end  to  it.  Let  me  then  entreat  that 
you  will  cease  to  think  of  me.  Forget  that  you  have  ever 
known  me,  and  I will  willingly  resign  all  pretensions  to  your 
regard,  or  even  acquaintance,  to  facilitate  the  tranquillity 
and  peace  of  mind  which  is  so  essential  to  your  success  in  a 
profession,  which  will  ever  be  in  itself  a source  of  continued 
delight.  You  must  be  certain  that  you  cannot  write  without 
increasing  feelings  that  must  be  entirely  suppressed.  You 
will,  therefore,  I am  sure,  see  the  impropriety  of  sending  me 
any  more  letters.  I congratulate  you  on  your  change  of 
residence.  It  is,  I think,  a very  desirable  situation.  Fare- 
well, my  dear  sir,  and  ever  believe  me  your  sincere  and  con- 
stant well-wisher,  M.E.  B.  Spring  Grove,  Dec.  1811.” 

From  his  father  Constable  received,  on  the  same  subject, 
the  following  letter: 

“ East  Bergholt,  Dec.  31,  1811.  Dear  John,  Your  present 
prospects  and  situation  are  far  more  critical  than  at  any 
former  period  of  your  life.  As  a single  man,  I fear  your 
expenses,  on  the  most  frugal  plan,  will  be  found  quite  equal 
to  the  produce  of  your  profession.  If  my  opinion  were  asked, 
it  would  be  to  defer  all  thoughts  of  marriage  for  the  present. 
I would  farther  advise  a close  application  to  your  profession, 
and  to  such  parts  as  pay  best.  At  present  you  must  not 
choose  your  subjects,  nor  waste  your  time  by  accepting 
invitations  not  likely  to  produce  future  advantages.  When 
you  have  hit  on  a subject,  finish  it  in  the  best  manner  you 
are  able,  and  do  not  in  despair  put  it  aside,  and  so  fill  your 
room  with  lumber.  I fear  your  great  anxiety  to  excel  may 
have  carried  you  too  far  above  yourself,  and  that  you  make 
too  serious  a matter  of  the  business,  and  thereby  render 
yourself  less  capable;  it  has  impaired  your  health  and 
spirits.  Think  less,  and  finish  as  you  go  (perhaps  that  may 
do).  Be  of  good  cheer,  John,  as  in  me  you  will  always  find 
a parent  and  a sincere  friend.  At  your  request,  you  may 
expect  to  see  your  sister  at  No.  63,  next  Thursday  after- 
noon.” 

Constable’s  youngest  sister,  the  lady  mentioned  in  this 
letter,  remained  with  him  in  London  from  the  commence- 
ment of  1812  to  the  middle  of  May;  and  by  the  affectionate 
interest  she  took  in  all  that  agitated  his  mind,  and  the  truly 


Academy  Pictures,  1812  25 

feminine  gentleness  of  her  manners  contributed  much  to  his 
comfort. 

It  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  that  the  injunctions  of  Miss 
Bicknell,  to  write  no  more  to  her,  should  be  obeyed  by 
Constable,  now  that  matters  had  gone  so  far,  and  a regular 
interchange  of  letters  soon  took  place  between  them. 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  63,  Charlotte  Street,  April,  1812. 
I have  dispatched  my  pictures  to  Somerset  House:  my 

friends  assure  me  they  are  my  best;  but  Leonardo  da  Vinci 
tells  us  to  mind  what  our  enemies  say  of  us.  It  is  certainly 
one  of  the  great  ends  of  a public  exhibition,  that  we  hear 
the  truth.  I have  sent  four  pictures,  the  ‘ View  of  Salisbury,’ 
‘ Flatford  Mill,’  and  two  small  ones.  My  good  friends  the 
Bishop  of  Sarum  and  Mrs.  Fisher  called  to  see  them.  I shall 
have  great  pleasure  in  giving  you  some  account  of  the 
exhibition.  Lawrence  has  sent  a picture  of  Kemble  in  Cato. 
Mr.  Farrington  spoke  highly  of  it  to  me.  . . . Let  me  beg 
of  you  to  continue  to  cheer  my  solitude  with  your  endearing 
epistles;  they  are  next  to  seeing  you,  and  hearing  you  speak. 
I am  now  engaged  with  portraits.  Mr.  Watts  sat  to  me  this 
morning,  and  seems  pleased  with  what  is  going  on.  I am 
copying  a picture  for  Lady  Heathcote,  her  own  portrait  as 
Hebe.  She  will  not  sit  to  me,  though  she  wants  many 
alterations  from  the  original;  but  I can  have  prints,  drawings, 
miniatures,  locks  of  hair,  etc.,  etc.,  without  end.  You  may 
be  able  to  tell  me,  better  than  I can  you,  any  public  matter, 
as  I never  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  newspaper.” 

“ 63,  Charlotte  Street,  Fitzroy  Square,  April  24,  1812. 
...  I believe  I mentioned  to  you  that  I left  a card  for 
Dr.  Rhudde  in  Stratton  Street.  I have  had  a polite  message 
from  him,  offering  to  take  any  letter,  etc.,  to  Bergholt.  I 
called  with  a letter  for  my  mother,  and  saw  the  doctor, 
who  was  very  courteous.  I am  glad  I have  seen  him; 
for  though  this  may  not  better  our  cause,  it  cannot  make  it 
worse,  and  I have  not  to  reflect  on  myself  for  any  omission 
or  neglect. 

“ I met  Mr.  West  in  the  street  the  other  day;  he  had 
been  much  gratified  with  my  picture  of  the  Mill,  etc.,  which 
passed  the  Council  of  the  Academy.  I wished  to  know 
whether  he  considered  that  mode  of  study  as  proper  for  lay- 
ing the  foundation  of  real  excellence.  ‘ Sir,’  said  he,  ‘ I 
consider  that  you  have  attained  it.’  . . . What  happiness  it 


26 


Life  of  Constable 


is  to  me  to  impart  to  you  any  little  circumstances  that  in  any 
way  connect  themselves  with  our  future  welfare,  when  I 
know  how  they  will  be  received  by  you;  and  though  I am 
denied  the  pleasure  of  communicating  them  with 
“ Your  arm  fast  lock’d  in  mine.” 

yet  I have  had  that  pleasure,  and  may  yet  again  for  many 
years.  Mary  Constable  has  left  Epsom,  and  I have  detained 
her  here  for  a few  days  on  her  return.  She  begs  her  kind 
remembrance  to  you.” 

“ 63,  Charlotte  Street,  May  6,  1812.  My  dearest  Maria, 
I am  writing  to  you  on  my  mother’s  birthday  and  wedding- 
day.  Perhaps  you  will  think  me  very  busy  with  my  pen; 
but  I am  glad  to  recollect  that  you  may  be  expecting  to  hear 
from  me  about  this  time.  Your  kindness  will  remember 
that  I can  scarcely  gain  any  intelligence  of  you  but  from 
yourself.  I have  made  two  hasty  visits  to  the  exhibition. 
The  portraits  by  Lawrence  and  Owen  are  very  excellent; 
and  there  are  some  beautiful  fancy  pictures  by  Thomson,  the 
Infant  Jupiter,  and  Lavinia  resting  her  arm  on  her  mother. 
Mr.  West’s  is  truly  an  heroic  landscape;1  and  Turner  has 
another,  a scene  among  the  Alps,  with  Hannibal  and  his 
army.  It  is  so  ambiguous  as  to  be  scarcely  intelligible  in 
some  parts  (and  those  the  principal),  yet,  as  a whole,  it  is 
novel  and  affecting.  Mr.  Farrington  has  some  beautiful 
landscapes,  but  they  are  heavy  and  crude.  I waited  to  see 
them  by  twilight,  when  they  looked  much  better.  My  own 
landscapes  have  excellent  situations.  My  dear  Mary  is  still 
with  me,  but  I must  part  with  her  in  a few  days.” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Spring  Grove,  May  14,  1812. 
I am  sorry,  my  dear  John,  that  you  should  have  felt  any 
disappointment  by  my  silence.  I will  not  therefore  delay 
thanking  you  for  your  last  two  letters.  . . .You  will,  I am 
sure,  make  allowances  for  me.  Think  how  much  of  the 
charm  of  writing  is  broken,  not  having  my  mother’s  appro- 
bation to  add  to  my  joy  by  sharing  it.  But  do  not  let  me 
grieve  you  by  sorrow,  that  will  intrude  its  hideous  form  to 
me.  I am  sure  you  have  suffered  sufficiently  on  my  account. 
What  do  you  think  of  accompanying  Sadak  in  his  search  for 
the  waters  of  oblivion  ? but  were  they  now  within  my  reach, 
I could  not  drink  them.” 

Constable’s  health  again  suffered,  and  he  was  advised  to  go 
1 “ Saul  before  Samuel  and  the  Prophets.” 


Decision  of  Character  27 

into  the  country.  On  the  24th  of  May  he  wrote  to  Miss 
Bicknell,  “ I am  still  looking  towards  Suffolk,  where  I hope 
to  pass  the  greater  part  of  the  summer;  as  much  for  the  sake 
of  study  as  on  any  other  account.  You  know  I have  always 
succeeded  best  with  my  native  scenes.  They  have  always 
charmed  me,  and  I hope  they  always  will.  I have  now  a 
path  marked  out  very  distinctly  for  myself,  and  I am  desirous 
of  pursuing  it  uninterruptedly.”  This  last  sentence  is  worthy 
of  attention,  as  it  shows  the  steadiness  of  purpose  which 
belonged  to  his  character  in  all  matters  relating  to  his  art, 
while  to  those  who  knew  or  observed  him  but  slightly,  there 
was  an  appearance  of  vacillation  and  indecision  in  his  manner 
entirely  at  variance  with  the  real  stability  of  his  mind.  It 
will  be  seen,  in  the  sequel,  how  impossible  it  was  to  drive  him 
out  of  the  path  he  had  chosen,  though  few  indeed  were  the 
encouragements  he  met  with  to  continue  in  it.  In  the  same 
letter  he  says,  “ I am  getting  on  with  my  picture  for  Lady 
Heathcote.  Lady  Louisa  Manners  has  a wretched  copy 
by  Hoppner  from  Sir  J.  Reynolds,  which  she  wishes  me  to 
repaint,  so  that  I fear  it  must  be,  at  least,  a fortnight  or  three 
weeks  before  I can  get  into  Suffolk.  My  friend  John  Fisher 
is  half  angry  with  me  because  I will  not  pass  a little  time 
with  him  at  Salisbury;  but  I am  determined  not  to  fritter 
away  the  summer,  if  I can  help  it.  I will  quote  part  of  his 
letter  (which  he  has  followed  to  town),  that  you  may  see 
what  an  enthusiast  he  is,  ‘We  will  try  and  coax  you  here, 
dear  Constable,  by  an  account  of  the  life  we  will  lead.  We 
will  rise  with  the  sun,  breakfast,  and  then  set  out  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  If  we  tire  of  drawing,  we  can  read,  or 
bathe,  and  then  home  to  a short  dinner.  We  will  drink  tea 
at  the  Benson’s,  or  walk  the  great  aisle  of  the  cathedral,  or 
if  the  maggot  so  bites,  puzzle  out  a passage  or  two  in  Horace. 
I think  this  life  of  Arcadian  or  Utopian  felicity  must  tempt 
you.’ 

“ I believe  there  are  more  exhibitions  than  usual,  open  at 
this  time.  I have  been  most  gratified  at  Wilkie’s.” 

The  Rev.  John  Fisher  (afterwards  Archdeacon  Fisher) 
was  chaplain  to  his  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  He  was 
the  eldest  son  of  Dr.  Fisher,  Master  of  the  Charter  House, 
and  though  sixteen  years  younger  than  Constable,  they  had 
contracted  a friendship  for  each  other  which  never  altered 
excepting  by  its  growth. 


28 


Life  of  Constable 

“ Charlotte  Street,  June  6th,  1812.  Yesterday  I took  a 
long  walk  with  Mr.  Stothard.  I left  my  door  about  six  in 
the  morning,  we  breakfasted  at  Putney,  went  over  Wimble- 
don Common,  and  passed  three  hours  in  Coombe  Wood 
(Stothard  is  a butterfly-catcher),  where  we  dined  by  a spring, 
then  back  to  Richmond  by  the  Park,  enjoyed  the  view,  and 
so  home.  All  this  on  foot,  and  I do  not  feel  tired  now, 
though  I was  a little  so  in  the  morning.  I only  asserted  I 
was  well  before,  I hope  now  this  is  a proof  of  it.” 

Constable  had,  for  some  time,  been  the  chosen  companion 
of  Stothard’s  long  walks,  the  chief  relaxation  of  that  admir- 
able artist  from  the  drudgery  of  working  for  the  publishers. 
These  walks  lengthened  with  the  lengthening  days,  and  I 
have  heard  him  speak  of  the  hilarity  with  which  Stothard 
would  enter  his  room  on  a fine  afternoon  in  the  spring  and 
say,  “ Come,  sir,  put  on  your  hat,  my  boys  tell  me  the  lilacs 
are  out  in  Kensington  Gardens.”  I have  seen  a beautiful 
pencil  drawing  of  a shady  lane,  which  Constable  made  during 
their  excursion  to  Coombe  Wood,  while  his  companion,  who 
was  introduced  into  it,  was  engaged  with  his  butterfly  nets. 
Stothard  was  then  about  fifty  years  of  age;  his  deafness 
precluded  him  from  the  enjoyment  of  general  society,  but 
with  a single  friend,  and,  as  in  this  instance,  a younger  man, 
who  looked  up  to  him  with  great  respect  and  admiration,  and 
whose  mind  was  in  many  respects  a kindred  one,  he  was 
very  communicative.  In  their  walks  together,  he,  no  doubt, 
felt  his  infirmity  as  little  as  possible;  while  the  hours  passed 
with  him  must  have  contributed  to  soothe  the  spirits  of 
Constable,  disquieted  as  they  then  were. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  June  10th,  1812.  You  will  see  by 
the  cover  that  the  good  bishop  is  as  kind  to  me  as  ever.  He 
and  Mrs.  Fisher  were  here  yesterday  for  an  hour  or  two; 
and  I have  completed  the  portrait 1 quite  to  their  satisfaction. 
I am  to  make  a duplicate  of  it  for  the  palace  at  Exeter. 
During  their  stay,  Mrs.  Fisher  wrote  to  the  Marchioness  of 
Thomond,  to  introduce  me  to  a sight  of  her  fine  collection 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’  pictures.  I am  going  this  morning 
to  Pall  Mall  (I  believe  I told  you  that  I had  something 
to  do  there,  with  a portrait  of  Lady  Louisa  Manners);  from 
thence  to  call  on  Sir  George  Beaumont;  he  wishes  to  see 
the  Gainsboroughs  at  Lord  Dysart’s,  and  in  return  he  is 
1 Of  the  Bishop. 


In  Suffolk 


29 

to  take  me  to  the  Marquis  of  Stafford’s  Gallery.  These 
things  delay  my  visit  to  dear  Bergholt,  and  I am  sighing 
for  the  country.  I am  told  the  trees  never  were  more 
beautiful;  indeed,  I never  saw  them  in  greater  perfection 
than  in  my  walk  with  Mr.  Stothard  to  Richmond.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  June  15th.  I am  making  sad  ravages 
of  my  time  with  the  wretched  portraits  I mentioned  to  you. 
I am  ungallant  enough  to  allude  entirely  to  the  ladies’  por- 
traits.1 I see  no  end,  if  I stay,  to  my  labours  in  Pall  Mall. 
Lady  Louisa  was  quite  distressed  when  I told  her  I must 
order  my  colours  away;  but  I see  no  alternative,  and  must 
fly  like  another  Telemachus,  though  not  for  the  same  reason. 
I am  sure  you  will  pardon  me,  when  I tell  you,  that  duty 
and  affection  to  my  mother,  made  it  impossible  for  me  to 
withhold  some  of  your  letters  from  her.  The  perusal  of 
them  made  her  more  than  ever  lament  our  unhappy  situation. 
My  father  is  uncommonly  well;  on  horseback  at  six  o’clock 
in  the  morning,  pursuing  his  plans  with  all  the  ardour  of 
youth:  surely  this  is  a delightful  proof  of  the  blessings  of 
a well  spent  and  temperate  life.  ...  In  one  of  your  letters 
you  ask  me,  what  I have  read  lately.  I have  all  Cowper’s 
works  on  my  table.  I mostly  read  his  letters.  He  is  an 
author  I prefer  to  almost  any  other,  and  when  with  him 
I always  feel  the  better  for  it.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  June  22nd.  From  the  window  where  I 
am  now  writing,  I see  all  those  sweet  fields  where  we  have 
passed  so  many  happy  hours  together.  I called  at  the 
Rectory  on  Saturday  with  my  mother.  The  doctor  was 
unusually  courteous,  and  shook  hands  with  me  on  taking 
leave.  Am  I to  argue  from  this  that  I am  not  entirely  out 
of  the  pale  of  salvation?  How  delighted  I am  that  you  are 
fond  of  Cowper.  But  how  could  it  be  otherwise?  for  he  is 
the  poet  of  religion  and  nature.  I think  the  world  much 
indebted  to  Mr.  Hayley.  I never  saw,  till  now,  the  supple- 
ment to  the  letters;  perhaps  some  of  his  best  are  to  be 
found  there,  and  it  contains  an  interesting  account  of  the 
death  of  poor  Rose,  a young  friend  of  the  poet’s.  Nothing 
can  exceed  the  beautiful  appearance  of  the  country;  its 
freshness,  its  amenity.”  “ July  22nd.  I have  been  living 
a hermit-like  life,  though  always  with  my  pencil  in  my  hand. 

1 These  were  copies  by  Hoppner,  with  alterations  according  to  the 
fancies  of  the  ladies. 


30  Life  of  Constable 

Perhaps  this  has  not  been  much  the  case  with  hermits,  if  we 
except  Swaneveldt  (the  pupil  of  Claude);  who  was  called 
the  £ Hermit  of  Italy/  from  the  romantic  solitudes  he  lived 
in,  and  which  his  pictures  so  admirably  describe.  How 
much  real  delight  have  I had  with  the  study  of  landscape 
this  summer ! either  I am  myself  improved  in  the  art  of  seeing 
nature,  which  Sir  Joshua  calls  painting,  or  nature  has 
unveiled  her  beauties  to  me  less  fastidiously.  Perhaps  there 
is  something  of  both,  so  we  will  divide  the  compliment.  But 
I am  writing  this  nonsense  with  a sad  heart,  when  I think 
what  would  be  my  happiness  could  I have  this  enjoyment 
with  you.  Then  indeed  would  my  mind  be  calm  to  con- 
template the  endless  beauties  of  this  happy  country.” 

In  a letter  dated  in  August,  he  says,  “ Many  of  my  friends 
have  urged  my  leaving  a profession  so  unpropitious ; but 
that,  you  know,  is  impossible.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  September  6th,  1812.  I am  happy  to 
hear  of  your  safe  arrival  at  Bognor  ...  on  the  same  day  I 
found  myself  quietly  drinking  tea  with  my  father  and  mother. 
...  I was  looking  anxiously  for  your  letter,  and  am  grieved 
to  find  your  spirits  so  much  affected.  You  have  hitherto 
borne  your  share  of  our  sorrows  (and  you  have  had  by  far 
the  greatest  share)  with  a fortitude,  that  has  made  me 
ashamed  of  myself.  I can  only  imagine  our  feelings  to  have 
been  very  similar;  but  let  me  believe  that  much  of  our 
present  suffering  may  be  the  effect  of  parting;  and  that,  with 
this  fine  weather,  added  to  the  delightful  scenes  you  are  in, 
you  have  recovered  your  usual  serenity.  ...  I have  not 
resumed  my  landscape  studies  since  my  return.  I have  not 
found  myself  equal  to  the  vivid  pencil  that  landscape  requires. 
I am  going  to-morrow  to  stay  a few  days  at  General  Rebow’s, 
near  Colchester,  to  paint  his  little  girl,  an  only  child,  seven 
years  old;  I believe  I am  to  paint  the  general  and  his  lady 
at  some  future  time : this  is  in  consequence  of  my  portrait  of 
young  Godfrey,  which  has  been  much  admired.”  . . . 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Bognor,  September  10th. 

. . . Continue  to  write  to  me,  my  dear  John,  without  the 
least  reserve;  the  more  I am  acquainted  with  you,  the 
happier  I shall  be.  We  are  both  very  unfortunately  situated 
(but  really  you  must  think  me  very  silly  to  tell  you  what  is 
so  evident).  We  can,  however,  make  writing  alleviate  many 
of  our  troubles,  and  be  to  us  one  of  our  highest  pleasures. 


Fire  at  His  Lodgings  31 

I used  to  dislike  it  excessively;  but  now  there  is  no  employ- 
ment I like  so  well.  . . . Have  the  goodness  to  remember 
me  kindly  to  your  mother,  and  tell  her  how  much  I am 
obliged  to  her  for  her  frequent  recollections  of  me.  And 
you,  my  dearest  John,  accept  every  affectionate  wish  from 
M.E.B.” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Bognor,  November  6th.  It 
was  particularly  kind  of  your  mother  to  call  in  Spring 
Gardens.  You  do  not  mention  anything  that  passed,  so 
I suppose  it  was  merely  the  common  chit-chat  of  the  day. 
You  will  believe  how  earnestly  I hope  my  father’s  visit  to 
Suffolk  will  produce  some  change  for  the  better.  But  I 
dare  not  be  too  sanguine;  for  then  bitter  would  be  my 
disappointment.  Grateful  for  the  present  share  of  happiness 
we  enjoy,  we  must  not  be  too  anxious  for  the  future.  Your 
letters  afford  me  a continual  source  of  pleasure.  . . . Fare- 
well, my  dearest  John;  may  health  and  spirits  long  attend 
you,  and  then  I shall  always  subscribe  myself,  your  happy 
and  affectionate  Maria.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  33,  Portland  Place,  November  10th, 
1812.  . . . Should  the  circumstance  of  a fire  in  Charlotte 
Street  appear  in  any  of  the  papers,  it  is  possible  you  may 
meet  with  it;  and  I write  this  hasty  line  or  two,  that  you 
may  not  be  uneasy  on  my  account.  The  fire  did  in  fact 
happen  on  the  premises  I inhabit;  but  I have  lost  nothing. 
We  shall  suffer  a temporary  inconvenience;  but  Mr.  Watts 
has  kindly  ordered  me  a bed  in  his  house,  and  a neighbour, 
Mr.  Henderson,  in  Charlotte  Street,  has  allowed  me  a room 
to  paint  in  while  the  house  is  under  repair.  We  were  put 
to  some  alarm  and  bustle,  but  no  one  was  hurt;  and  I hope 
Mr.  Weight’s  insurance  will  cover  his  loss.  The  fire  began 
in  a workshop  at  the  back  of  the  house,  about  four  o’clock 
in  the  morning,  and  spread  so  very  fast,  that  at  one  time  we 
thought  of  saving  ourselves  only.  I,  however,  secured  my 
most  valuable  letters ; and  we  went  to  work  removing  what- 
ever we  could  into  the  street.  We  were  not  long  without 
help;  but  it  was  an  hour  before  any  engine  came.  It 
appeared  as  if  nothing  could  save  the  house,  and  it  was  very 
difficult  to  pass  up  and  down  stairs,  owing  to  the  great  heat 
of  the  windows;  but  we  persevered  as  long  as  we  could, 
and  while  we  were  getting  Lady  Heathcote’s  large  picture 
down,  I had  a shower  of  glass  about  me  from  the  window 


32  Life  of  Constable 

on  the  staircase.  I ran  with  it  over  the  way  to  Mr.  Far- 
rington’s, and  on  my  return  for  something  else,  I found  the 
poor  woman-servant,  who  had  lately  nursed  Mrs.  Weight,  in 
great  distress,  as  all  her  fortune  was  in  the  garret,  and  in  her 
pockets  which  were  under  her  pillow;  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost,  I ran  upstairs,  and  she  was  overjoyed  to  see  me 
return  with  them,  through  the  smoke,  quite  safe.  It  was 
now  that  the  engines  arrived,  and  fortunately  succeeded 
in  putting  a stop  to  the  flames.  Mr.  Weight’s  loss  is  greater 
than  he  at  first  expected;  all  the  premises  are  burnt  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  the  back  drawing-room  and  its  contents 
are  destroyed,  and  all  the  back  windows.  I cannot  bear 
to  leave  these  poor  people  in  their  distress,  and  we  think 
of  taking  a temporary  place  till  the  house  is  repaired.” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Bognor,  Nov.  16.  My  dearest 
John,  Had  it  been  merely  a letter  of  form  I had  to  write, 
you  should  have  received  it  sooner;  but,  as  it  is,  you  per- 
fectly know  how  sincerely  and  fervently  thankful  I am 
that  you  have  sustained  no  personal  harm.  You  acted 
considerately  and  like  yourself.  I should  have  been  sadly 
alarmed  at  any  account  of  the  fire  previous  to  yours;  but 
I had  not  seen  it  in  the  papers,  though  I dare  say  it  has  been 
inserted,  as  they  are  always  glad  of  news,  and  I believe  the 
more  melancholy  the  better.” 

Constable  had  presented  to  his  friend  Fisher  a small  land- 
scape, of  which  that  gentleman  writes  in  a letter,  dated 
“Nov.  13,  1812.  Your  painting  has  been  much  criticised; 
disliked  by  bad  judges,  gaped  at  by  no  judges,  and  admired 
by  good  ones.  Among  these,  Coxe  the  historian,  who  has 
seen  much,  was  particularly  pleased  with  it.  It  put  him  in 
mind,  he  said,  ‘ of  the  good  old  Dutch  forest  painting  school.’ 
He  looks  at  it  whenever  he  comes  into  my  room,  which  is 
most  days.  What  it  wants,  he  says,  is,  that  c what  is  depth 
near,  should  not  be  gloom  at  a distance.’  By  the  words  far 
and  near,  I mean  as  the  spectator  recedes  from  or  approaches 
the  picture.  This  is,  I think,  a just  observation.  I am  now 
looking  at  it.  It  is  most  pleasing  when  you  are  directed  to 
look  at  it;  but  you  must  be  taken  to  it.  It  does  not  solicit 
attention  ; and  this  I think  true  of  all  your  pictures,  and  the 
real  cause  of  your  want  of  popularity.  I have  heard  it 
remarked  of  Rubens,  that  one  of  his  pictures  illuminates 
a room.  It  gives  a cheerfulness  to  everything  about  it.  It 


Portrait  Painting  33 

pleases  before  you  examine  it,  or  even  know  the  subject. 
How  he  obtained  this,  or  how  it  is  to  be  obtained — hie  labor, 
hoc  opus  est.  Don’t  laugh  at  my  feeble  criticisms,  Constable; 
I mean  your  service,  and  all  men  are  allowed  to  talk  good- 
natured  nonsense.  You  shall  have  something  to  put  you  in 
mind  of  the  great  * Escurial  ’ 1 at  Lord  Radnor’s.  I have  to 
thank  you  for  the  ability  to  view  that  work  as  it  ought  to 
be  viewed.  You  gave  me  another  sense.  ...  I passed 
three  most  delicious  days  in  this  country  with  Dr.  Callcott 
and  his  brother  the  artist.  . . . How  is  your  mind?  at 
rest?  Set  it  so,  if  you  can,  for  your  success,  as  you  know, 
depends  upon  it.  I shall  see  you  soon  in  town,  till  when 

* Adieu — adieu, — remember  me ! * 

though  I am  no  ghost.  Believe  me,  my  dear  fellow,  Yours 
most  faithfully,  John  Fisher.” 

In  a letter,  without  date,  but  written  about  this  time, 
Constable  says,  “ My  good  friends  in  Seymour  Street  continue 
their  great  kindness  to  me,  I have  just  completed  another 
portrait  for  them,  for  the  Palace  at  Exeter.  I told  Mrs. 
Fisher  yesterday,  how  much  I thought  his  lordship  had 
of  the  character  of  the  Archbishop  of  Cambray.  She  was 
pleased  to  hear  me  say  so,  and  said,  that  although  it  had  not 
been  observed  to  her  before,  she  had  always  called  him  her 
Fenelon.  Mr.  Watts  and  I are  the  best  friends  in  the  world. 
Should  I not  be  happy  when  I consider  all  these  blessings, 
and  that  you  love  me?” 

The  portraits  Constable  had  painted,  of  the  Bishop  of 
Salisbury  and  Mr.  Watts,  had  given  great  satisfaction,  and 
on  the  30th  of  November  his  mother  thus  wrote  to  him: 
“ Fortune  seems  now  to  place  the  ball  at  your  foot,  and  I 
trust  you  will  not  kick  it  from  you.  You  now  so  greatly 
excel  in  portraits  that  I hope  you  will  pursue  a path  the 
most  likely  to  bring  you  fame  and  wealth,  by  which  you  can 
alone  expect  to  obtain  the  object  of  your  fondest  wishes.” 

Portraiture,  we  are  told,  originated  in  love;  and  Con- 
stable’s friends  now  hoped  that  love  would  make  a portrait 
painter  of  him.  Its  immediate  effects,  however,  seemed 
more  likely  to  retard  his  advance,  both  in  portrait  and  in 
landscape;  and  Miss  Bicknell,  who  saw  this  with  great  grief, 
thus  admonished  him.  “ By  a sedulous  attention  to  your 
1 A Landscape  by  Rubens. 


C 


34  Life  of  Constable 

profession,  you  will  very  much  help  to  bestow  calm  on  my 
mind,  which  I shall  look  for  in  vain  while  I see  with  sorrow 
how  unsettled  you  appear,  and  consequently,  unfitted  to 
attend  to  a study  that  requires  the  incessant  application 
of  the  heart  and  head.  You  will  allow  others,  without  half 
your  abilities,  to  outstrip  you  in  the  race  of  fame,  and  then 
look  back  with  sorrow  on  time  neglected  and  opportunities 
lost,  and  perhaps  blame  me  as  the  cause  of  all  this  woe. 
Exert  yourself  while  it  is  yet  in  your  power;  the  path  of 
duty  is  alone  the  path  of  happiness.  Let  us  wait  with  quiet 
resignation  till  a merciful  Providence  shall  dispose  of  us 
in  the  way  that  will  be  best.  Believe  me,  I shall  feel  a more 
lasting  pleasure  in  knowing  that  you  are  improving  your 
time,  and  exerting  your  talents  for  the  ensuing  exhibition, 
than  I should  do  while  you  were  on  a stolen  march  with  me 
round  the  Park.  Still  I am  not  heroine  enough  to  say, 
wish,  or  mean,  that  we  should  never  meet.  I know  that 
to  be  impossible.  But,  then,  let  us  resolve  it  shall  be  but 
seldom,  not  as  inclination,  but  as  prudence  shall  dictate. 
Farewell,  dearest  John;  may  every  blessing  attend  you, 
and  in  the  interest  I feel  in  your  welfare,  forgive  the  advice 
I have  given  you,  who,  I am  sure,  are  better  qualified  to 
admonish  me.  Resolution  is,  I think,  what  we  now  stand 
most  in  need  of,  to  refrain  for  a time,  for  our  mutual  good, 
from  the  society  of  each  other. ” 


CHAPTER  III 
1813-1814 

Constable’s  Pictures  in  the  Exhibitions  of  1813.  Exhibition  at  the 
British  Gallery  of  the  Works  of  Reynolds.  Turner.  J.  Dun- 
thorne,  Jun.  “ Willy  Lott’s  House.”  Sale  of  two  of  Constable’s 
Pictures.  His  Pictures  at  the  Academy,  1814.  Excursion  in 
Essex.  Picture  of  “ Boat-building.”  Constable’s  Disposition  to 
shun  Society. 

“To  Miss  Bicknell.  63,  Charlotte  Street,  May  3rd,  1813. 
Mr.  West  informs  me,  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  council,  as  well 
as  his  own,  that  I have  made  an  advance  upon  myself  this 
year.  Since  I had  last  the  happiness  of  seeing  you,  I have 
had  so  great  a share  of  ill  health,  that  I have  not  been  able 
to  paint;  but  I hope  the  summer  and  a look  at  the  country 
will  revive  me.  I told  you  I was  about  to  commence  a 
portrait  of  Lady  Lennard.  I began  it  three  weeks  ago,  and 
it  promised  to  be  like;  but  I was  obliged  to  decline  it,  and 
this  circumstance  has  given  me  real  concern,  as  I am  anxious 
to  maintain  the  friendship  of  this  worthy  family.  . . . 
Shall  I mention  my  profession  again?  I am  really  con- 
sidered to  have  been  more  successful  in  it  this  last  year; 
and  is  it  unreasonable  to  suppose,  that  if,  under  such  unto- 
ward circumstances,  I have  exerted  some  energy,  I might 
do  much  more  if  this  load  of  despondency  could  be  removed 
from  me?” 

The  pictures  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  letter,  were  called 
in  the  catalogue  of  the  Academy,  “ Landscape,  Boys  Fishing,” 
and  “ Landscape,  Morning.”  In  January  he  had  exhibited 
at  the  British  Gallery,  one  picture,  with  no  title  but  “ Land- 
scape.” 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  the  directors  of  the  British 
Institution  exhibited  at  their  rooms  the  most  splendid  collec- 
tion of  pictures  that  were  ever  seen  together,  as  the  produc- 
tions of  one  man;  and  the  reputation  of  Reynolds,  high  as 
it  was,  was  raised  by  this  assemblage  of  his  works.  Through 
the  kindness  of  Mr.  Watts,  Constable  received  a card  for  the 
dinner,  given  by  the  directors,  on  this  memorable  occasion; 

35 


Life  of  Constable 


36 

and  the  following  is  the  account  he  gave  of  the  day  to  Miss 
Bicknell:  “ The  company  assembled  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
Gallery,  from  which  there  was  a covered  way  to  Willis’  rooms. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  Prince  Regent,  the  Marquis  of  Stafford 
and  the  governors  of  the  Institution  hastened  to  conduct 
him  upstairs.  His  manner  was  agreeable,  and  I saw  him 
shake  hands  with  many  of  the  company.  Dinner  was 
announced  at  seven,  the  Marquis  of  Stafford  (the  president) 
in  the  chair,  behind  which,  on  a considerable  elevation,  was 
placed  a statue  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  by  Flaxman.  The 
Earl  of  Aberdeen  made  an  excellent  speech;  he  said,  that 
< although  the  style  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  might  differ  in 
appearance  from  the  style  of  those  specimens  of  art  which 
are  considered  the  nearest  to  perfection  in  the  ancient  Greek 
sculpture,  and  the  productions  of  the  great  schools  of  Italy; 
yet  his  works  were  to  be  ranked  with  them,  their  aim  being 
essentially  the  same — the  attainment  of  nature  with  simplicity 
and  truth.’  The  Regent  left  the  table  about  ten,  and 
returned  to  the  Gallery,  which  was  now  filled  with  ladies. 
Among  them  I saw  Mrs.  Siddons,  whose  picture  is  there  as 
the  4 Tragic  Muse.’  Lord  Byron  was  pointed  out  to  me;  his 
poetry  is  of  the  most  melancholy  kind,  but  he  has  great 
ability.  Now,  let  me  beg  of  you,  to  see  these  charming 
works  frequently;  and  form,  in  your  own  mind,  the  idea  of 
what  painting  should  be  from  them.  It  is  certainly  the 
finest  feeling  of  art  that  ever  existed.” 

“ Spring  Garden  Terrace,  June  9th.  My  dear  John. 
Having  only  a few  minutes  to  converse  on  Friday,  you  know 
we  did  not  say  much.  I will,  therefore,  try  what  I can  do 
in  a letter.  Writing  I dislike  excessively,  but  still  I have  no 
other  means  of  telling  you  what  passes  here,  and  I take  it 
for  granted  you  like  to  know.  I think  you  seemed  much 
better  than  when  I saw  you  at  the  Academy.  I was  quite 
hurt  then  at  your  appearing  so  very  far  from  well.  The 
portrait  you  gave  me  looks  pale,  as  you  did  then.  That 
is  the  only  fault  I find  with  it.  I was  enchanted  with  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’  pictures.  I think  it  must  have  been 
a beautiful  sight  to  have  seen  them  by  candle  light,  and 
the  rooms  filled  with  company  elegantly  dressed.  ...  I 
imagine  next  month  you  will  like  to  quit  London  for  Suffolk; 
as  the  study  of  nature  will  be  more  agreeable  than  the 
picture  galleries.  I will  not  forget  to  drink  your  health  in  a 


Advice  from  Mr.  Fisher 


37 

bumper  on  the  nth.  Adieu,  dear  friend,  why  are  we  thus 
attached  when  everything  conspires  against  us!  ” 

“ Palace,  Sarum,  June  14th,  1813.  Dear  Constable,  I 
have  heard  your  great  picture  spoken  of  here,  by  no  inferior 
judge,  as  one  of  the  best  in  the  exhibition.  It  is  a great 
thing  for  one  man  to  say  this.  It  is  by  units  that  popularity 
is  gained.  I only  like  one  better,  and  that  is  a picture  of 
pictures,  the  ‘ Frost  ’ by  Turner.  But  then  you  need  not 
repine  at  this  decision  of  mine ; you  are  a great  man,  and  like 
Buonaparte,  are  only  to  be  beaten  by  a frost.  I despair  of 
ever  seeing  you  down  here.  What  a reflection  is  it  in  this 
life,  that  whenever  we  have  a pleasant  scene,  there  is  little 
hope  of  repeating  the  view.  How  many  delightful  hours  of 
pleasantry  have  I passed  in  a society  that  will  never  meet 
together  again,  except  under  the  sod.  It  is  one  argument 
for  living  while  you  can  live.  * Dum  vivimus  vivamus.’  The 
same  argument  will,  by  the  bye,  hold  good  of  reading.  Read 
a book  while  it  lies  before  you:  ten  to  one  if  you  read  it 
another  time.  I only  know,  the  little  knowledge  I have,  has 
been  picked  up  by  odds  and  ends.  In  a bookseller’s  shop, 
late  at  night,  at  breakfast,  or  while  waiting  for  a friend  who 
was  late  at  dinner.  Pray,  as  you  regard  your  interest,  call 
on  the  Bishop  and  his  lady,  as  he  may  attribute  your  not 
calling  to  neglect,  and  not  to  humility.  Everybody  does 
not  know,  as  well  as  myself,  that  there  is  an  exhibitioner 
and  a painter  for  fame,  who  is  possessed  of  modesty  and 
merit,  and  is  too  honest  and  high-minded  to  push  himself 
by  other  means  than  his  pencil  and  palette.  Believe  me, 
dear  Constable,  Yours  very  faithfully,  John  Fisher.” 

“ 63,  Charlotte  Street,  June  30th.  When  I last  had  the 
happiness  of  seeing  you,  my  dearest  Maria,  I had  fixed  a day 
for  going  into  Suffolk.  I was,  however,  prevented  by  a call 
upon  me  for  portraits;  for  I assure  you,  my  reputation  in 
that  way  is  much  on  the  increase.  One  of  them,  a portrait 
of  the  Rev.  George  Bridgman,  a brother  of  Lord  Bradford, 
far  excels  any  of  my  former  attempts  in  that  way,  and  is 
doing  me  a great  deal  of  service.  My  price  for  a head  is 
fifteen  guineas;  and  I am  tolerably  expeditious  when  I can 
have  fair  play  at  my  sitter.  I have  been  much  engaged 
for  Lady  Heathcote,  who  seems  bent  on  serving  me.  My 
pictures  of  herself  and  her  mother,  occupy  either  end  of  the 
large  drawing-room  in  Grosvenor  Square;  they  have  magni- 


Life  of  Constable 


38 

ficent  frames,  and  make  a great  dash.  She  is  to  bring  me  a 
handsome  boy  at  the  Christmas  holidays.  She  has  a little 
dance  on  Friday,  when  my  pictures  will  be  seen  for  the  first 
time  publicly.  I am  now  leaving  London  for  the  only  time 
in  my  life  with  my  pockets  full  of  money.  I am  entirely  free 
from  debt  (not  that  my  debts  ever  exceeded  my  usual  annual 
income),  and  I have  required  no  assistance  from  my  father. 
I have  arranged  matters  with  Sir  Thomas  Lennard,  and  am 
to  pass  a month  with  him  very  late  in  the  season;  which  I 
am  delighted  to  find  gives  me  possession  of  the  three  ensuing 
months  to  myself,  and  I hope  to  do  a good  deal  in  that  time. 
I do  assure  you,  my  dearest  Maria,  I am  not  trying  to  give 
you  the  favourable  side,  only,  of  myself;  but  am  merely 
mentioning  facts  as  they  have  occurred  to  me  within  the  last 
two  or  three  months,  during  which  time,  we  have  unfortun- 
ately had  so  little  communication  with  each  other.  But  I 
trust  the  time  is  at  hand,  when  the  ground  will  be  rendered 
more  smooth  for  us.  You  may  probably  know  that  there  has 
been  some  correspondence  between  Mr.  Bicknell  and  myself. 
When  I thought  I was  leaving  town,  I wrote  to  him,  to 
request  he  would  consent  to  an  interview,  or  some  sort  of 
communication  between  us;  he  would  agree  to  neither;  yet 

I do  not  repent  of  what  I have  done,  as  I was  happy  at  least, 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  approaching  him  in  a respectful 
manner.  ...  I thank  God  daily  for  a thousand  blessings 
which  I enjoy;  and  I can  lay  my  hand  on  my  heart  and  say, 

I I have  a conscience  void  of  offence.’  I look  forward  to 
many  happy  years  with  you,  but  we  might  have  been  spared 
a world  of  pain.  ...  I am  quite  delighted  to  find  myself 
so  well,  although  I paint  so  many  hours;  but  my  mind  is 
happy  when  so  engaged.  ...  I dined  with  the  Royal 
Academy  last  Monday  in  the  council  room.  It  was  entirely 
a meeting  of  artists  (none  but  the  members  and  exhibitors 
could  be  admitted),  and  the  day  passed  off  very  well.  I sat 
next  to  Turner,  and  opposite  Mr.  West  and  Lawrence.  I 
was  a good  deal  entertained  with  Turner.  I always  expected 
to  find  him  what  I did.  He  has  a wonderful  range  of  mind. 
...  I leave  town  with  a much  more  comfortable  feeling  on 
your  account,  than  I had  last  year.  You  looked  so  well, 
and  seemed  so  happy;  and  to  see  you  comfortable  ought  to 
make  me  happy  under  any  circumstances.” 

“ Richmond,  August  25th,  1813.  Knowing,  my  dearest 


Young  Dunthorne  39 

John,  that  you  are  expecting  a letter  from  me,  I cannot 
delay  any  longer  thanking  you  for  your  last  letter,  which  I 
received  the  day  before  I left  town;  I wish  I could  divest 
myself  of  feeling  so  like  a culprit  when  I write  to  you.  It 
would  be  so  much  pleasanter  for  you  and  for  me;  but  I 
know  I am  breaking  through  rules  prescribed  to  me  by  those 
I love,  and  making  you  uncomfortable  by  my  sombre 
reflections.  I think  of  you  equally  if  I write  or  do  not 
write ; so  recollect  in  future,  not  to  expect  to  hear  from  me, 
unless  I have  something  very  particular  to  say.” 

“ Spring  Garden  Terrace,  February  18th,  1814.  Your 
wish,  my  dear  John,  is  totally  impracticable — of  correspond- 
ing weekly;  but  I will  write  as  often  as  I can.  Indeed,  I 
was  just  going  to  tell  you,  that  your  last  letter  had  given  me 
much  pleasure;  for  it  seemed  written  in  better  spirits  than 
usual.  ...  You  have  both  surprised,  deceived,  and  pleased 
me.  How  could  you  say  there  was  no  picture  of  yours  at 
the  British  Gallery  ? I think  the  cats  1 excessively  pretty, 
comical  creatures.  I am  sure  you  must  have  been  enter- 
tained in  painting  them.  The  whole  has  a richness  of 
colour  that  pleases  me.  You  must  forgive  my  criticising 
your  pictures.  ...” 

In  a letter  to  Miss  Bicknell,  dated  February  1814,  the 
first  mention  of  young  Dunthorne,  the  son  of  Constable’s 
early  friend,  occurs.  Of  this  young  man,  to  whom  he  was 
much  attached,  and  who  became  an  extremely  useful  assistant 
to  him,  he  says:  “ I have  written  to  Dunthorne  to  send  me 
Johnny.  He  is  not  at  all  vulgar,  and  naturally  very  clever; 
but  were  he  not,  I should  love  him  for  his  father’s  sake.” 
To  Dunthorne,  Constable  wrote:  “ I am  rather  disappointed 
at  not  seeing  Johnny  here  yet;  but  as  the  weather  is  now  fine 
though  cold,  I wish  you  would  let  him  come.  I am  desirous 
of  having  him  now,  for  I think  he  will  be  useful  to  stimulate 
me  to  work,  by  setting  my  palette,  etc.,  which  you  know  is 
a great  help,  and  keeps  me  cheerful.  I am  anxious  about  the 
large  picture,  ‘ Willy  Lott’s  House,’  which  looks  uncommonly 
well  in  the  masses  and  tone.  I am  determined  to  detail,  but 
not  retail  it  out.  Tell  Abram,  Mr.  Coxe  2 intends  having  my 

1 Two  martin  cats,  of  which  he  exhibited  a small  picture  at  the 
British  Gallery. 

a Peter  Coxe,  the  brother  of  Archdeacon  Coxe,  and  author  of  a poem 
called  the  “ Social  Day,”  for  which  the  engraving  was  made. 


40  Life  of  Constable 

‘ Windmill ’ engraved,  and  has  put  it  into  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Landseer  for  that  purpose.  It  is  a pretty  subject,  one  of  the 
Stoke  Mills.  I am  determined  to  finish  a small  picture  on  the 
spot,  for  every  large  one  I intend  to  paint.  This  I have 
always  talked  about,  but  have  never  yet  done.” 

The  little  farmhouse,  which  in  the  last  letter  is  called 
“ Willy  Lott’s  House,”  is  situated  on  the  edge  of  the  river, 
close  to  Flatford  Mill.  It  is  a principal  object  in  many  of 
Constable’s  pictures;  but  the  most  exact  view  of  it  occurs  in 
the  one  engraved  for  the  “ English  Landscape,”  with  the 
title  of  “ A Mill  Stream,”  and  is  taken  from  the  front  of  the 
mill,  the  wheel  of  which  occasions  the  ripple  seen  on  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Willy  Lott,  its  possessor,  was  bom  in 
it;  and  it  is  said,  has  passed  more  than  eighty  years  without 
having  spent  four  whole  days  away  from  it. 

So  little  was  Constable’s  art  as  yet  appreciated,  that  the 
sale  of  two  of  his  pictures,  this  year,  must  be  mentioned  as  an 
extraordinary  event;  a small  one  exhibited  at  the  British 
Gallery  to  Mr.  Allnutt,  and  a larger  one  of  a “ Lock  ” to  Mr. 
James  Carpenter.  The  last  is  mentioned  in  the  following 
note  to  Mr.  Watts: — “ 63,  Charlotte  Street,  April  12th,  1814. 
My  dear  Uncle,  I received  your  kind  note  this  morning. 
Accept  my  best  thanks  for  the  excellent  advice  it  contained, 
and  which,  I am  well  aware,  I stand  much  in  need  of.  I am 
willing  to  allow  that  I possess  more  than  a usual  share  of  the 
failings  incident  to  the  species;  as  an  artist,  I know  I have 
many  great  deficiencies,  and  that  I have  not  yet,  in  a single 
instance,  realised  my  ideas  of  art.  Your  kind  solicitude 
respecting  my  picture  of  the  ‘ Lock  ’ is  highly  gratifying  to 
me;  but  it  may  now  cease,  as  the  picture  has  become  the 
property  of  Mr.  Carpenter,  who  purchased  it  this  morning. 
He  is  a stranger  to  me,  and  bought  it  because  he  liked  it. 
You  say,  truly,  that  my  mind  is  not  at  ease.  Perhaps  there 
may  be  something  constitutional;  but  it  is  certainly  much 
increased,  since  I have  had  the  misfortune  to  involve  the 
happiness  of  the  most  amiable  being  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
in  my  own  fate.  The  excellent  lady  to  whom  I allude  con- 
tinues faithful  to  me  in  my  adversity;  and  that  too  amidst 
a scene  of  persecution  and  unkindness,  which  has  continued 
many  years;  therefore  I may  yet  be  happy;  and  believe  me, 
my  dear  uncle,  the  great  kindness  which  you  have  always 
shown  me  at  your  table,  and  elsewhere,  as  a friend  and 


Mr.  Allnutt 


41 

relation,  has  not  a little  contributed  to  support  my  mind 
through  much  trouble,  which  I believe  has  been  increased 
by  an  extraordinary  susceptibility  of  feeling.” 

The  picture  purchased  by  Mr.  Allnutt  led  to  an  acquaint- 
ance between  Constable  and  that  gentleman,  who  has  recently 
favoured  me  with  the  following  account  of  its  commencement. 

“ Dear  Sir,  Many  years  ago,  I purchased  at  the  British 
Institution  a painting  by  Mr.  Constable.  But  as  I did  not 
quite  like  the  effect  of  the  sky,  I was  foolish  enough  to  have 
that  obliterated,  and  a new  one  put  in  by  another  artist 
which,  though  extremely  beautiful,  did  not  harmonise  with 
the  other  parts  of  the  picture.  Some  years  after,  I got  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Constable  to  ask  him,  if  he  would  be  kind 
enough  to  restore  the  picture  to  its  original  state,  to  which 
he  readily  assented.  Having  a very  beautiful  painting  by 
Mr.  (now  Sir  Augustus)  Callcott,  which  was  nearly  of  the 
same  size,  but  not  quite  so  high;  I sent  it  to  Mr.  Constable 
together  with  his  own,  and  expressed  a wish,  that  if  he  could 
do  it  without  injury  to  the  picture,  he  would  reduce  the  size 
of  it  in  height,  by  lowering  the  sky,  so  as  to  make  it  nearer 
the  size  of  Mr.  Callcott’s,  to  which  I wished  it  to  hang  as  a 
companion.  When  I understood  from  him  that  it  was  ready 
for  me,  I called  at  his  house  to  see  it;  and  this  was  the  first 
interview  I ever  had  with  him.  He  asked  me  how  I liked 
it;  to  which  I replied,  I was  perfectly  satisfied;  and  wished 
to  know  what  I was  indebted  to  him  for  what  he  had  done  to 
it,  in  order  that  I might  settle  the  account.  He  then  said,  he 
had  no  charge  to  make,  as  he  felt  himself  under  an  obliga- 
tion to  me,  which  he  wished  to  acknowledge,  and  was  happy 
he  had  now  an  opportunity  of  doing  so.  I told  him  I was 
not  aware  of  any  obligation;  and,  therefore,  wished  he  would 
name  a price.  To  which  he  replied,  that  I had  been  the 
means  of  making  a painter  of  him,  by  buying  the  first  picture 
he  ever  sold  to  a stranger;  which  gave  him  so  much  en- 
couragement, that  he  determined  to  pursue  a profession  in 
which  his  friends  had  great  doubts  of  his  success.  He  like- 
wise added,  that  wishing  to  make  the  picture  as  acceptable  to 
me  as  possible,  he  had,  instead  of  reducing  the  height  of  the 
old  picture,  painted  an  entirely  new  one  of  the  same  subject, 
exactly  of  the  size  of  the  one  by  Callcott;  and  that  if  I was 
satisfied  with  the  exchange  (which  of  course  I was),  it  gave 
him  much  pleasure.  I remain,  dear  Sir,  yours  very  faith- 


42  Life  of  Constable 

fully,  John  Allmitt.  Clapham  Common,  February  2nd, 
i843-” 

The  pictures  Constable  sent  to  the  Academy  this  season 
were,  “ A Ploughing  Scene  in  Suffolk,”  and  a “ Ferry.” 

From  Miss  Bicknell.  “ Spring  Garden  Terrace.  I de- 
ferred writing,  my  dear  John,  in  hopes  of  being  able  to  tell 
you  where  our  summer  quarters  would  be  fixed;  but  it  still 
remains  undecided.  Only  think  of  your  not  making  one 
among  the  200,000  persons,  who  I hear  are  come  to  town 
to  see  our  illustrious  visitors ; 1 I suppose  you  intend  consol- 
ing yourself  with  a view  of  their  pictures.  . . . Indeed,  my 
dear  John,  people  cannot  live  now  upon  £400  a year— -it  is  a 
bad  subject,  therefore,  adieu  to  it.  I imagine  it  will  not  be 
very  long  before  you  are  in  town.  I wonder  if  I shall  see 
you.  Alas ! that  it  should  be  a matter  of  doubt.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  East  Bergholt,  July  3rd,  1814.  I 
have  been  absent  from  this  place  more  than  a fortnight,  on  a 
visit  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Driffield,  at  Feering,  near  Kelvedon. 
He  is  a very  old  friend  of  my  father’s,  and  once  lived  in  this 
parish.  He  has  remembered  me  for  a long  time ; as  he  says 
he  christened  me  one  night,  in  great  haste,  about  eleven 
o’clock.  Some  time  ago,  I promised  him  a drawing  of  his 
house  and  church  at  Feering;  and,  during  my  visit,  he  had 
occasion  to  go  to  his  living  at  South  Church,  and  I was 
happy  to  embrace  his  proposal,  that  I should  accompany 
him ; by  which  I saw  much  more  of  the  county  of  Essex  than 
I had  ever  seen  before,  and  the  most  beautiful  part  of  it;  as  I 
was  at  Malden,  Rochford,  South  End,  Hadleigh,  Danbury, 
etc.,  etc.  At  Hadleigh  there  is  a ruin  of  a castle,  which 
from  its  situation  is  vastly  fine.  It  commands  a view  of  the 
Kent  hills,  the  Nore,  and  the  North  Foreland,  looking  many 
miles  to  sea.  I have  filled,  as  usual,  a little  book  of  hasty 
memoranda  of  the  places  which  I saw.  My  companion, 
though  more  than  seventy,  is  a most  active,  restless  creature, 
and  I never  could  get  him  to  stop  long  at  a place.  He  could 
outwalk  and  outrun  me  on  any  occasion;  but  he  was  very 
kind  and  good-tempered.  Indeed,  my  dear  Maria,  this  little 
excursion  was  so  amusing  to  me,  that  although  I was  never 
a moment  without  you  in  my  thoughts,  there  were  times 
when  I was  so  delighted  with  the  scenery,  as  to  forget  that 
my  mind  had  been  so  long  a stranger  to  happiness.  You 
1 The  Emperor  Alexander,  the  King  of  Prussia,  etc. 


“ Boat-building  ” 


43 

tell  me  that  you  have  an  offer  of  going  into  Wales.  Let  me, 
my  beloved  child,  entreat  you  to  embrace  it  if  you  are  able  to 
leave  your  excellent  mother,  to  whom  I know  you  are  always 
ready  to  devote  yourself.  I am  confident  that  such  a tour 
would  be  a real  blessing  to  you ; the  change  of  air,  and  then 
the  sublime  scenery.  I did  hope  that  we  might  have  visited 
these  delightful  places  together  for  the  first  time ; but  it  will 
be  happiness  enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  are  happy.  ...” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  East  Bergholt,  Sept.  18th,  1814. 
This  charming  season,  as  you  will  guess,  occupies  me  entirely 
in  the  fields ; and  I believe  I have  made  some  landscapes  that 
are  better  than  usual,  at  least  that  is  the  opinion  of  all  here. 
I do  hope  that  nothing  will  happen  to  interrupt  my  present 
pursuits,  but  that  I shall  pass  the  rest  of  the  autumn  as  I have 
done  the  summer;  and  I also  hope  on  my  return  to  London 
to  have  the  great  happiness  of  seeing  you  much  oftener  than 
I have  hitherto  done.  I believe  we  can  do  nothing  worse 
than  indulge  in  useless  sensibility,  but  I can  hardly  tell  you 
what  I feel  at  the  sight,  from  the  window  at  which  I am 
writing,  of  the  fields  in  which  we  have  so  often  walked.  A 
calm  autumnal  setting  sun  is  glowing  on  the  gardens  of  the 
rectory  and  on  those  fields  where  some  of  the  happiest  hours 
of  my  life  have  been  passed.” 

Among  the  landscapes  mentioned  in  this  letter  was  one 
which  I have  heard  him  say  he  painted  entirely  in  the  open 
air.  It  was  exhibited  the  following  year  at  the  Academy, 
with  the  title  of  “ Boat-building.”  In  the  midst  of  a meadow 
at  Flatford,  a barge  is  seen  on  the  stocks,  while  just  beyond  it 
the  river  Stour  glitters  in  the  still  sunshine  of  a hot  summer’s 
day.  This  picture  is  a proof,  that  in  landscape,  what  painters 
call  warm  colours  are  not  necessary  to  produce  a warm  effect. 
It  has  indeed  no  positive  colour,  and  there  is  much  of  grey 
and  green  in  it;  but  such  is  its  atmospheric  truth,  that  the 
tremulous  vibration  of  the  heated  air  near  the  ground  seems 
visible.  This  perfect  work  remained  in  his  possession  to  the 
end  of  his  life. 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  East  Bergholt,  Oct.  2nd,  1814.  We 
have  had  a most  delightful  season.  It  is  many  years  since 
I have  pursued  my  studies  so  uninterruptedly  and  so  calmly, 
or  worked  with  so  much  steadiness  or  confidence.  I hope 
you  will  see  me  an  artist  some  time  or  other.” 

Constable’s  close  application  to  his  art  while  at  Bergholt 


44  Life  of  Constable 

had  prevented  his  paying  as  much  attention  to  some  of  his 
friends  there  as  it  would  appear  he  was  expected  to  do,  and 
after  his  return  to  town,  his  mother  wrote  to  him.  “ I 
believe  it  is  thought  you  avoid  notice  too  much:  this  will 
damp  the  ardour  of  the  best  friendships.  ’Tis  true  you  have 
been  delightfully  busy  this  summer,  and  so  far  so  good.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  Oct.  25th,  1814.  ...  I am  happy 
to  hear  of  some  improvement  in  your  mother’s  health;  I 
hope  it  may  continue  to  advance.  Though  any  notice  or 
good  wishes  from  me  I know  will  be  useless,  yet  I mention 
it  for  your  sake.  ...  I have  had  a distressing  letter  from 
my  friend  John  Fisher  on  the  death  of  his  uncle,  General 
Fisher.  Poor  Fisher  was  acting  the  part  of  a comforter 
when  no  comfort  could  be  imparted.  The  distress  of  the 
general’s  daughter,  Mrs.  Conroy,  and  of  his  son-in-law,  was 
beyond  all  belief.  A fine  manly  soldier  weeping  like  an 
infant;  and  Fisher  was  obliged  to  tear  her  from  the  coffin 
when  they  were  taking  it  away.  He  wishes  me  to  undertake 
(as  it  might  prove  a means  of  consolation)  a portrait  of  the 
general  from  a drawing.  He  was  extremely  like  the  good 
bishop,  mild,  sensible,  and  placid.  I could  give  him  little 
hope  of  making  much  of  a picture,  but  shall  willingly  try.  . . . 
The  studies  I have  made  this  summer  are  better  liked  than 
any  I have  done;  but  I would  rather  have  your  opinion  of 
them  than  that  of  all  others  put  together.  But  fate  is  still 
savage.  I lament  every  moment  the  want  of  your  society, 
and  feel  the  loss  of  it  in  my  mind  and  heart.  You  deserved 
a better  fate.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  63,  Charlotte  Street,  Nov.  12th,  1814. 
You  say  you  shall  leave  Brighton  in  a fortnight.  Let  me 
hope,  then,  you  have  received  benefit  from  its  good  air  and 
general  appearance  of  cheerfulness.  I never  was  at  a bath- 
ing town,  but  I am  told  they  are  amusing.  You  will  judge 
of  my  great  ignorance  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  gay  world, 
when  I tell  you,  that  till  I read  your  letter  yesterday,  I did 
not  know  that  any  of  the  royal  family  had  visited  Brighton 
this  season.  ...  I never  fail  to  find  unceasing  delight  in 
the  art;  but  who  are  seeking  for  its  honours  I know  not:  it 
is  sufficient  for  me  to  know  that  I am  not,  though  I will  allow 
that  four  or  five  years  ago,  when  I was  more  youthful,  I was 
a little  on  tiptoe  for  fame.  I have  hardly  yet  got  reconciled 
to  brick  walls,  and  dirty  streets,  after  leaving  the  endeared 


Shunning  Society  45 

scenes  of  Suffolk.  At  the  same  moment  that  I received  your 
letter  I had  one  from  my  mother  so  amusing  that  I long  to 
show  it  to  you.  It  is  quite  a journal  of  the  time  I was  with 
them,  though  she  regrets,  at  the  end,  that  my  natural  pro- 
pensity to  escape  from  notice  should  have  so  much  increased 
upon  me.” 

“ Brighton,  Nov.  15th,  1814.  You  will  be  surprised,  my 
dear  John,  to  hear  from  me  again  so  soon.  Indeed  I fear  I 
shall  ruin  you  in  postage.  But  really  you  have  written  me 
such  a strange  letter,  that  I cannot  forbear  sending  you  my 
sentiments  upon  it,  and  I am  delighted  to  find  that  I am 
supported  in  them  by  Mrs.  Constable.  It  appears  strange 
to  me  that  a professional  man  should  shun  society.  Surely 
it  cannot  be  the  way  to  promote  his  interest.  Why  you 
should  no  longer  be  anxious  for  fame  is  what  I cannot  com- 
prehend. It  is  paying  me  a very  ill  compliment.  If  you 
wish  to  remain  single,  it  may  do  very  well.  We  shall  return 
to  town  next  Tuesday.  I trust  the  following  day,  if  it  should 
be  tolerably  fine,  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  recluse  in 
St.  James’  Park  about  twelve  o’clock;  if  not,  the  following 
day  at  the  same  hour.  You  can  then  if  you  please  make 
your  defence,  and  promise  to  behave  better  for  the  future. 
I must  have  no  more  of  this  propensity  to  escape  from  notice : 
I must  have  you  known,  and  then  to  be  admired  will  be  the 
natural  consequence.  I do  not  know  how  you  will  like  my 
strictures  on  your  conduct,  but  I cannot  help  that.  It  is 
better  you  should  know  my  mind  now  than  afterwards.  It 
is  not  too  late  to  quarrel.  It  is  your  turn  next  to  accuse  me, 
and  I am  sure  I stand  convicted  of  numberless  errors.” 

“ Dec.  12.  When  I took  leave  of  you,  my  dearest  John, 
last  Saturday,  I fully  thought  I should  see  you  again  before 
you  left  town ; but  alas ! it  is  your  fate  as  well  as  my  own 
to  be  often  disappointed.  It  is,  I am  well  convinced,  for  our 
mutual  benefit  that  we  should  not  often  see  each  other.  It 
is  this  alone  makes  me  support  the  privation  with  tolerable 
good-humour.  But  your  time,  so  infinitely  valuable  to  me, 
I cannot  have  it  lost.  The  genius  of  painting  will  surely, 
one  day  or  other,  rise  up  against  me  for  too  often  keeping 
one  of  her  favourite  sons  from  a study  that  demands  his 
exclusive  attention.  . . . Mamma,  I am  happy  to  say,  is 
much  better.” 


CHAPTER  IV 
1815-1816 

Constable  permitted  to  visit  Miss  Bicknell.  Death  of  his  Mother. 
Death  of  Miss  Bicknell’s  Mother.  G.  Dawe.  Exhibition,  1815. 
Delicacy  of  Miss  Bicknell’s  Health.  Lady  Spencer.  Constable’s 
Studies  at  Bergholt.  Illness  of  his  Father.  Dr.  Rhudde.  Ex- 
hibition, 1816.  Death  of  Constable’s  Father.  General  and  Mrs. 
Rebow.  Pictures  painted  at  Wivenhoe  Park.  The  Rev.  J. 
Fisher.  Constable’s  Marriage.  Visit  to  Osmington.  Dr.  Rhudde’s 
Legacy  to  Mrs.  Constable. 

East  Bergholt,  January  6th,  1815.  My  dear  son  John. 
I send  you  a mother’s  Christmas  gift,  in  the  form  of  six  new 
shirts.  Four  of  them  are  hemp,  and  you  said  you  should 
like  to  try  them  for  working  shirts.  The  other  two  are 
Sunday  ones,  with  the  collars  cut  to  the  pattern  of  your 

cousin ’s.  How  you  will  like  them  I cannot  tell.  But 

I hope  it  will  be  the  only  imitation  of  him  you  will  try;  with 
the  exception  of  the  kind  intentions  of  his  heart,  and  his 
dutiful  affection  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  which  will  spring 
up  and  show  themselves  through  all  the  confusion  in  his 
affairs.  The  magnitude  of  his  debts  really  terrifies  me.  0, 
my  dear  John,  pray  keep  out  of  debt,  that  earthly  Tartarus! 
I return  you  the  pocket-book.  It  is  very  pretty,  and  much 
increased  in  value  for  the  donor’s  sake,  who,  I hope,  will  one 
time  or  other,  be  rewarded  better  than  by  a poor  artist.  You 
must  try  hard  for  fame  and  gain.  We  have  lived  to  see  the 
beginning  of  a new  year.  Who  may  be  permitted  to  see  the 
close  of  it,  God  only  knows.  To  those  who  do,  may  it  prove 
a happy  one,  and  to  you  amongst  that  number.  Ann 
Constable.” 

“ Spring  Garden  Terrace,  February  23rd.  My  dearest 
John,  I have  received,  from  papa,  the  sweet  permission  to 
see  you  again  under  this  roof  (to  use  his  own  words)  ‘ as  an 
occasional  visitor.’  From  being  perfectly  wretched,  I am 
now  comparatively  happy.  ...  M.  E.  Bicknell.” 

Mrs.  Constable,  in  a letter  to  her  son,  dated,  “ East  Berg- 
holt, March  7th,”  thus  speaks  of  this  unexpected  gleam  of 
sunshine  on  the  prospect  of  the  lovers.  “ It  gives  me 

46 


Death  of  His  Mother 


47 

pleasure  to  know  you  are  a visitor  in  a friendly  wray,  in  Spring 
Gardens.  You  must  make  every  allowance  for  Mr.  Bicknell, 
who  is,  most  assuredly,  not  a free  agent  in  this  matter.  He 
is  under  rigid  restrictions;  from  which,  for  the  sake  of  his 
family,  he  must  not  swerve.  As  circumstances  stand,  I 
esteem  it  a great  point  gained;  and  it  is  a comfort  to  my 
mind,  which  has  long  been  a silent  sufferer  from  the  treat- 
ment you  have  met  with,  so  derogatory  to  your  respectability 
and  honourable  intentions.” 

Mrs.  Constable  was  not,  however,  destined  to  see  her  son, 
and  the  object  of  his  affections,  more  happy  than  they  now 
were.  She  had  lately  suffered  much  anxiety  on  account  of 
her  husband’s  health,  which  was  declining.  And  this, 
perhaps,  hastened  a paralytic  attack,  with  which  she  was 
seized  on  the  9th  of  April,  while  gardening,  a recurrence  of 
which  terminated  her  well-spent  life  on  the  8th  of  May.  In 
her  last  letter  to  her  son,  she  earnestly  exhorted  him  to  use 
his  influence  with  a friend  at  Bergholt,  whose  conduct  had 
placed  him  at  variance  with  his  wife.  “ How  can  he  bear,” 
she  said,  “ to  worry  her,  as  it  were,  into  her  grave.  And  as 
to  the  children,  all  their  budding  days  of  happiness,  their 
youthful  prime,  are  blighted  by  their  father’s  imprudence. 
Do,  my  dear  John,  try  to  persuade  him  to  the  ways  that 
make  for  peace:  ‘ Blessed  are  the  peace-makers;  for  theirs 
is  the  kingdom  of  God.’  May  this  be  your  portion  in  the 
world  to  come,  and  health  and  happiness  in  this.  So  prays 
your  affectionate  mother.” 

The  death  of  this  excellent  woman  was  felt  by  her  son  as 
a very  heavy  blow.  She  had  cheered  and  encouraged  him 
in  his  profession,  and  obtained  for  him  introductions  calcu- 
lated to  advance  his  prospects,  at  a time  when  his  other 
friends  considered  them  hopeless.  She,  more  than  any  one 
else,  shared  in  all  the  anxieties  arising  out  of  his  engagement 
with  Miss  Bicknell,  which  she  hoped  to  see  happily  fulfilled ; 
and  she  neglected  no  means,  however  trifling,  to  propitiate 
Dr.  Rhudde,  as  a single  instance  will  show.  Constable  had 
sent  her  a present  of  a large  drawing  in  water  colours  of 
Bergholt  Church,1  which,  in  the  letter  she  wrote  to  acknow- 
ledge its  receipt,  she  described  as  “ the  most  beautiful 
drawing  she  had  ever  beheld.”  But  it  immediately  occurred 
to  her  to  present  it  to  the  rector,  which  she  did  in  the  name 

1 This  drawing  now  belongs  to  his  eldest  sister,  Miss  Ann  Constable. 


Life  of  Constable 


48 


of  her  son.  It  was  useless.  Dr.  Rhudde  acknowledged 
the  present  in  a polite  letter;  but,  unwilling  to  remain  the 
obliged  person,  he  enclosed  a bank  note,  requesting  Constable 
to  purchase  with  it  something  to  remember  him  by,  “ when 
he  should  be  no  more.”  The  death  of  Miss  Bicknell’s 
mother,  who  had  long  been  ill,  occurred  not  many  days 
after  that  of  Mrs.  Constable. 

“To  Miss  Bicknell.  East  Bergholt,  May  21st,  1815. 
My  dearest  love,  When  I left  town  it  was  not  my  intention 
to  have  remained  so  long  absent.  I received  your  kind  note, 
and  regretted  you  were  so  situated  that  you  could  not  see  me. 
I called,  however,  the  day  before  I came  here;  and,  although, 
your  note  had  somewhat  prepared  me  for  the  afflicting 
intelligence  which  I received  at  your  door,  I could  not  but 
be  shocked,  as  I was  not  aware  that  your  dear  mother  was  so 
near  her  removal.  It  is  singular  that  we  should,  both  of  us, 
have  lost  our  nearest  friends,  the  nearest  we  can  have  in  this 
world,  within  so  short  a time ; and  now,  more  than  ever,  do 
I feel  the  want  of  your  society.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  63,  Charlotte  Street,  June  16th. 
I have  seen  Spilsbury  again;  he  still  urges  me  to  make  him 
a visit  at  his  cottage,  near  Tintem  Abbey.  I ought  to  see 
another  country,  and  this  is  a charming  one.  I am  half 
inclined  to  go,  but  I need  not  decide  for  a week  or  ten  days. 
I pine  after  dear  Suffolk;  but  is  not  this  indolence?  My 
heart,  as  you  know  too  well,  is  not  there.  At  least,  not  all 
of  it.  But  you  say,  you  would  not  give  a farthing  for  a 
divided  heart;  however,  make  yourself  easy,  you  have  by 
far  the  greatest  part;  but  what  vanity  is  this!  ” 

“ June  17th.  I have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  Wales,  and 
I now  only  wonder  that  I indulged  in  them.  I have  sold 
myself  for  the  work  I am  engaged  in,  which  is  a large  land- 
scape in  the  background  of  a picture  at  Mr.  Dawe’s.1  It 
occupies  me  at  least  twelve,  and  sometimes  fourteen  hours  a 
day.  This  I do  by  choice,  as  well  as  by  agreement,  that  I 
may  the  sooner  get  back  to  dear  Bergholt,  and  find  a day  to 
see  you  before  I go.” 

“ June  28th.  I find  there  is  no  end  to  my  labours  for 
Dawe.  Therefore,  with  even  a loss  to  myself,  should  it  be 
so,  I am  determined  to  relinquish  them.  He  is  very  anxious 

1 The  portrait  of  Miss  O’Neil,  in  the  character  of  Juliet,  now  in  the 
.possession  of  the  Garrick  Club. 


Exhibition,  1815  49 

to  engage  me  in  other  works;  and  he  would  even  take  a 
promise  from  me  for  a twelvemonth  to  come.  We  are  full 
of  anxiety  about  our  relations  who  were  in  the  late  dreadful 
battle; 1 we  can  get  no  account  of  them  whatever.”  “ June 
30th.  I have  done  at  Mr.  Dawe’s,  and  have  given  him  great 
satisfaction;  but  I have  persisted  in  making  him  no  more 
promises;  he  is  an  overmatch  for  me.” 

Constable,  this  year,  exhibited  at  the  Academy  eight 
works,  and  among  them,  the  exquisite  one  I have  mentioned, 
called  “ Boat-building:  ” the  others  were,  “ A View  of 
Dedham,”  “ A Village  in  Suffolk,”  “ A Landscape,”  “ A 
Sketch,”  and  three  drawings.  At  the  British  Gallery,  he 
exhibited  one  picture,  called  “ Landscape.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell.  East  Bergholt,  July  13th.  . . . 
I think  I never  saw  dear  old  Bergholt  look  half  so  beautiful 
as  now,  the  weather  has  been  so  delightful.  There  is  no 
village  news,  except  that  they  are  all  very  gay,  and  the 
youngest  man  among  them  is  Dr.  Rhudde.  . . .” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  ...  I was  much  pleased 
with  your  letter.  You  appear  calm,  resigned,  affectionate, 
and  happy.  It  communicated  the  same  feelings  to  me.  . . . I 
am  very  glad  you  have  had  a conversation  with  papa.  In 
the  winter  it  will  be  well  to  renew  it.  Of  the  doctor,  I can 
say  nothing;  but,  that  I believe,  it  will  be  wisest  to  leave 
him  to  himself.  How  delightful  this  sweet  rain  will  make 
those  dear  fields  look,  that  I envy  you  the  view  of.  I should 
like  to  transport  myself  there  once  a week:  am  I not  very 
moderate?  How  much  you  must  enjoy  painting  in  the  open 
air,  after  Mr.  Dawe’s  room.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  August  27th.  ...  I have,  my  dearest 
love,  little  to  tell  you  of  what  is  passing  here.  I live  almost 
wholly  in  the  fields,  and  see  nobody  but  the  harvest  men. 
The  weather  has  been  uncommonly  fine;  though  we  have 
had  some  very  high  winds  that  have  discomposed  the  foliage 
a great  deal.  We  are  all  well;  my  father  takes  his  rides  as 
usual,  and  is  pretty  well,  but  we  think  he  gradually  grows 
weaker.  This,  however,  we  cannot  but  expect;  but  his 
present  appearance  is  a striking  proof  of  the  blessings  attend- 
ing the  old  age  of  a virtuous  life.2  ...  I received  a news- 

1 Of  Waterloo;  at  which  were  present  two  of  Constable’s  cousins. 
Captain  Gubbins,  who  was  killed ; and  Lieutenant  Allen.  The  mothers 
of  these  officers  and  Mrs.  Constable  were  sisters. 

8 Golding  Constable  was  then  in  his  77th  year. 


D 


50  Life  of  Constable 

paper  containing  an  account  of  Mr.  Stothard’s  pictures  from 
Lord  Byron’s  works,  etc. — am  I not  obliged  to  you  for  it? 
It  must  have  been  directed  by  your  hand.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  August  29th.  ...  It  was  I who  sent 
the  newspaper;  just  to  show  you  that  I sometimes  think  of 
you,  and  in  expectation  of  hearing  from  you,  so  it  answered 
my  plan  exactly.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  September  9th.  I cannot  resist,  my  dear 
John,  taking  up  my  pen  again,  fearing  you  should  have 
deemed  my  last  letter  unworthy  of  notice;  and  I may, 
perhaps,  be  absent  a week  after  the  16th;  'and  then,  I hope, 
you  would  have  thought  my  silence  long.  How  charmed 
you  must  be  with  this  long  continuance  of  fine  weather.  I 
should  suppose  for  many  seasons,  you  have  not  painted  so 
much  in  the  open  air.  Nature  and  you  must  be  greater 
friends  than  ever.  I am  suffering  a little,  to-day,  from  being 
out  late  yesterday.  Is  it  not  a sad  thing  to  be  so  delicate? 
I must  not  be  out  after  sunset.  It  is  easy  enough  to  avoid  it, 
so  that  trouble  is  soon  got  over.  The  moon  shall  tempt  me 

no  more.  ...  I regret  you  have  not  seen  Mrs. , she 

is  much  interested  in  our  future  welfare.  Fortune,  I am 
sure,  delights  to  torment  us.  But  hold,  my  pen!  I do  not 
think  I am  ever  long  dejected.  Tell  me  what  you  have  been 
reading.  But  I suppose  you  have  not  found  much  time  for 
it.  I am  studying  French,  quite  hard,  and  I find  it  very 
amusing.  . . . My  dear  John,  good-bye,  you  will  allow 
this  to  be,  for  me,  quite  a long  letter!  Will  the  end  of 
October  oblige  you  to  return  to  London?  Though  I long 
to  see  you,  I am  always  sorry  when  you  leave  Suffolk.  It 
must  be  so  pleasant  for  you  to  be  there.  I should  never  like 
to  leave  the  country  while  a single  leaf  remained  on  the 
trees.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  September  14th.  ...  I am  concerned 
to  find  by  your  letter  that  you  are  still  so  delicate,  and  that 
you  are  so  liable  to  be  hurt  by  any  little  unusual  exertion. 
Pray  take  care  of  yourself.  I am  happy  to  hear  that  your 
father  is  so  friendly  and  kind  to  you.  I shall  always  venerate 
him  for  his  goodness  to  you,  who  are  all  the  world  to  me. 
I am  sure  you  will  believe  me,  my  dear  Maria,  when  I say, 
that  I allow  no  bad  disposition,  nor  any  wrong  feeling  to 
remain  in  my  heart,  towards  any  one,  for  both  our  sakes. 
For  should  it  be,  as  I trust  it  is,  God’s  good  pleasure  that  we 


At  Bergholt  5 1 

should  pass  our  lives  together;  it  will  be  but  sensible  con- 
duct, as  well  as  a religious  duty,  to  have  as  little  to  disturb 
our  peace  as  possible;  for,  as  life  advances,  our  trials  will 
increase,  and  at  the  end  all  our  ill  conduct  must  be  accounted 
for.  I have,  as  you  guess,  been  much  out  of  doors.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell,  October  1st.  I cannot  help  regretting 
the  departure  of  our  delightful  summer;  but  I continue  to 
work  as  much  as  possible  in  the  fields,  as  my  mind  is  never 
so  calm  and  comfortable  as  at  those  times.  . . . This 
morning  we  had  the  sacrament  at  our  church,  and  I am 
happy  to  say  my  father  was  able  to  join  us.  . . . You  do 
not  mention  when  you  leave  Putney  Heath.  Should  I be 
likely  to  stop  here  a few  weeks  longer,  I shall  come  to  town 
for  a day  or  two,  for  I am  anxious  to  see  you.  . . .” 

Constable  remained  at  Bergholt  until  the  beginning  of 
November.  In  a letter  to  Miss  Bicknell,  dated  the  1st  of 
that  month,  he  says,  “ My  Aunt  Allen’s  second  son  is  lately 
made  a post-captain;  and  our  cousin,  Colonel  Gubbins,1  is 
preferred  (Mr.  Watts  writes  me  word)  above  fifty  other  field 
officers  to  command  the  light  companies  of  the  army  in 
Paris;  and  when,  added  to  these  good  things,  your  papa 
introduces  me  to  the  Prince  Regent,2 — who  cannot  do  other- 
wise than  give  me  a bit  of  red  or  blue  riband  for  my  very 
excellent  landscapes,  you  may  justly  be  proud  of  the  family 
you  are  to  be  connected  with.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  October  2nd.  I must  praise  you,  my 
dear  John,  for  writing  on  the  day  I named.  I should  have 
been  very  sorry  had  you  not.  Is  it  not  delightful  that  we 
can  depend  upon  each  other?  I must  tell  you  what  a 
pleasant  ride  I had  yesterday,  through  Wimbledon  Park, 
to  see  Lady  Spencer  (very  grand,  is  it  not?)  who  had  politely 
desired  papa  to  bring  his  daughter.  She  appeared  to  be 
a very  pleasant  woman,  but  had  she  not,  a title  is  too  apt  to 
make  us  think  so.  Does  it  not  seem  strange? — a charming 
house  and  park,  and  she  says,  she  ‘ would  not  give  two-pence 
for  it.’  Such  is  the  world!  what  we  have  we  do  not  value, 
and  what  we  have  not  we  want.  . . . These  are  charming 
days  for  walking,  but  surely  too  cold  and  damp  for  painting.” 

1 The  brother  of  Captain  Gubbins  who  was  killed  at  Waterloo. 
Colonel  Gubbins  had  just  returned  from  America,  where  he  had  been 
present  at  the  attack  on  New  Orleans. 

2 Mr.  Bicknell  was  solicitor  to  the  prince. 


Life  of  Constable 


52 

“ East  Bergholt,  October  19th.  ...  I have  been  every 
day  intending  to  write  to  you,  but  I have  been  so  much  out, 
endeavouring  to  catch  the  last  of  this  beautiful  year,  that  I 
have  neglected  almost  every  other  duty.  I have  put  rather 
a larger  landscape  on  hand  than  I ever  did  before.  And  this 
it  is  my  wish  to  secure  in  a great  measure  before  I leave  this 
place;  as  I here  find  many  aids,  and  I am  sure  that  if  I go 
to  London  to  stay,  first,  I shall  meet  with  many  trifling  jobs 
to  interrupt  me,  which  I shall  do  with  pleasure  when  I have 
my  own  pictures  under  command.  You  shall  hear  from  me 
again  in  a day  or  two.” 

After  a short  visit  to  London,  Constable  again  wrote  from 
Bergholt  on  the  15th  of  November.  “ I have  received  your 
kind  and  affectionate  note,  and  your  lovely  present,  which  I 
cannot  enough  prize.  It  is  the  first  thing  of  the  kind  I ever 
possessed.  It  is  my  intention  to  continue  here  till  I feel  that 
I have  secured  such  a picture  as  I intend  for  the  exhibition. 
Here  everything  is  calm,  comfortable,  and  good;  and  I am 
at  a distance  from  you,  which  effectually  removes  the 
anxious  desire  I always  feel,  when  you  are  in  London,  to  meet 
you,  perhaps  too  often  for  each  other’s  comfort,  till  we  can 
meet  for  once,  and  I trust,  for  good.  . . . My  kindest 
regards  to  all  about  you,  and,  believe  me,  ever  dear  Maria, 
unalterably  yours.” 

“ Spring  Garden  Terrace,  December  28th.  I dare  say, 
my  dear  John,  you  are  expecting  to  hear  from  me,  and  I am 
expecting  to  hear  from  you;  as  your  last  letter  led  me  to 
suppose,  you  would  write  again  in  a day  or  two.  But  it  is 
painting  that  takes  up  all  your  time  and  attention.  How  I 
do  dislike  pictures;  I cannot  bear  the  sight  of  them;  but  I 
am  very  cross,  am  I not?  You  may  spare  yourself  telling 
me  I am  very  unreasonable,  for  I know  it  already.  But  I 
cannot  be  reconciled  to  your  spending  month  after  month  in 
the  country.  You  say  you  have  no  expectation  of  remaining 
in  London  for  some  time.  At  all  events  it  is  pleasant 
intelligence.  But  I feel  how  very  often  the  visits  here  are 
distressing.  I believe  you  are  right  to  remain  where  you  are; 
in  a comfortable  home,  and  rendering  the  declining  years  of 
your  father  happy.  Whatever  attention  you  can  show  him, 
must  make  your  hours  pass  the  more  agreeably.  Whenever 
I wish  you  away,  I know  I do  wrong.  I wish  we  could 
always  like  what  is  right.  Henceforth  I will  endeavour. 


His  Father’s  Illness 


53 

. . . Accept,  my  dearest  John,  the  good  wishes  of  the 
season;  not  only  you,  but  all  your  family,  and  believe  me, 
affectionately  yours,  M.  E.  B.  — P.S.  I am  in  very  good 
humour  now,  so  that  I shall  be  happy  to  hear  your  pictures 
please  you.  Is  Bergholt  gay  this  Christmas?  Do  you  not 
think  if  I were  to  write  seldom,  and  fill  the  paper,  it  would 
be  better?  I certainly  will  in  future.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  December  31st.  Believe  me,  my  dearest 
Maria,  I have  been  for  some  time  past  most  anxious  to  write 
to  you.  I have  even  written  more  than  one  letter,  without 
being  able  to  prevail  on  myself  to  send  them.  This  house 
has  been  the  scene  of  great  anxiety  and  alarm,  owing  to  the 
very  dangerous  state  of  my  dear  father’s  health.  But, 
thank  God,  for  the  last  two  or  three  days  he  has  revived; 
and,  although  in  a very  weak  and  low  state,  he  seems  to  be 
free  from  immediate  danger.  As  you  may  suppose,  I have 
not  been  painting  much,  nor  am  I likely  to  return  to  London 
for  the  present,  at  least,  not  to  remain.  Dr.  Rhudde  has 
been  very  kind  in  his  inquiries  after  my  father,  and  has 
sent  him  word  that  he  will  call  upon  him  at  the  shortest 
notice.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  January  7th,  1816.  It  is  impossible  to 
contemplate,  without  satisfaction,  the  frame  of  mind  my 
father  has  been  in,  all  through  his  illness.  His  pious  resig- 
nation, in  what  appeared  the  hour  of  death;  his  calmness, 
and  his  thankfulness  for  all  the  blessings  he  has  enjoyed; 
will,  I hope,  be  always  before  me,  and  prove  a guide  to  my 
future  life.  His  pillow  is  light  to  him,  and  he  is  so  kind, 
as  to  consider  the  having  all  his  children  about  him,  as  not 
among  the  least  of  his  blessings.  I have  got  to  work  again 
with  alertness,  and  am,  I hope,  advancing.  I have  no 
intention  of  coming  to  London  to  stay;  but  I hope,  if  my 
father  continues  as  well  as  he  now  is,  to  be  there,  for  a few 
days,  soon.  I have  a letter  of  thanks,  from  Mr.  Watts, 
for  a most  beautiful  brace  of  pheasants,  which  I wish  it  had 
been  in  my  power  to  have  given  to  you.  But  from  these 
little  courtesies,  dear  to  a heart  that  is  not  bad,  I am  cut 
off.” 

“To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Though  I have  not  written 
to  you,  my  dearest  John,  I have  thought  continually  of  you. 
When  you  last  wrote,  the  idea  of  danger  seemed  past,  and 
I rejoice  that  it  pleases  God  still  to  bless  you  with  a father. 


Life  of  Constable 


54 

May  the  impression  it  has  made  on  you  never  wear  off;  it 
shall  be  a lesson  to  me.  Of  this  I am  confident,  that  those 
who  really  love  and  fear  God,  are  the  only  wise  people. 
Remember  me  kindly  to  your  sisters.  M.  E.  Bicknell.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  January  14th.  . . . My  dear  father 
continues  charmingly,  all  things  considered,  and  this  imparts 
cheerfulness  to  the  whole  house.  . . . He  will  drink  your 
health  in  a bumper  with  me  to-morrow.1  . . . .” 

Miss  Bicknell’s  next  letter  alludes  to  a visit  paid  by  her 
father  to  Dr.  Rhudde.  “ January  18th.  ...  I do  not 
think  I have  been  quite  so  comfortable  lately  as  I ought  to 
be.  I had  most  foolishly,  most  romantically,  I own,  flattered 
myself  that  the  late  visit  to  the  Rectory  would  have  pro- 
duced some  good  for  us ; but  the  state  of  our  affairs  seems  as 
bad  as  ever;  with,  to  me,  the  addition  of  your  spending  the 
winter  in  the  country.  Though,  remember,  in  your  father’s 
present  state  of  health,  I would  not  for  the  world,  you  should 
be  anywhere  else.  In  the  summer  it  is  a thing  of  course, 
and  we  have  been  used  to  it,  and  know  it  must  be;  but  in 
the  winter  and  spring  months  we  have  always  been  together. 
...  We  certainly  have  not  too  many  enjoyments.  ...  I 
am  afraid  you  will  be  said  to  be  very  unsociable  by  the 
Bergholt  belles  and  beaux,  if  you  refuse  being  at  any  of  their 
card  parties.” 

Soon  after  receiving  this  letter,  Constable  spent  a few  days 
in  town,  and  returned  to  Bergholt,  from  whence  he  wrote 
to  Miss  Bicknell  on  the  “ 25th  January  . . . On  my  arrival 
here,  I found  my  dear  father  sadly.  There  is  certainly  a 
great  alteration  in  him  since  I left  home.  I fear  his  time  is 
now  short  indeed.  I am  glad  I went  to  London;  and  do  let 
me  entreat  you  to  be  calm,  and  let  nothing  that  can  be  said 
vex  you.  ...  I love  you  entirely,  and  nothing,  save  death, 
can  prevent  our  being  happy  together.  We  can  never  be 
rich;  but  we  can  have  what  riches  cannot  purchase,  and  what 

enemies  cannot  deprive  us  of.  Dr.  Rhudde  and  Mrs.  

are  entirely  inveterate  against  me.  But  don’t  let  that  vex 
you.  The  one  never  saw  me,  and  the  other  has  had  no 
opportunity  of  knowing  me.  But  time  will  set  all  to 
rights.” 

The  permission  Mr.  Bicknell  had  given  Constable  to  pay 
occasional  visits  at  his  house,  had  been  kept  a secret  from 
1 Her  birthday. 


Dr.  Rhudde’s  Letter 


55 

Dr.  Rhudde.  But  an  accident  now  discovered  it  to  him; 
and  Miss  Bicknell  wrote  to  Constable.  “ February  7th.  . . . 
The  doctor  has  just  sent  such  a letter,  that  I tremble  with 
having  heard  only  a part  of  it  read.  Poor  dear  papa,  to  have 
such  a letter  written  to  him ! he  has  a great  share  of  feeling 
and  it  has  sadly  hurt  him.  ...  I know  not  how  it  will  end. 
Perhaps  the  storm  may  blow  over;  God  only  knows.  We 
must  be  patient.  I am  sure  your  heart  is  too  good  not  to 
feel  for  my  father.  He  would  wish  to  make  us  all  happy 
if  he  could.  Pray  do  not  come  to  town  just  yet.  I hope 
by  the  end  of  the  month  peace  will  be  restored.”  Constable 
replied:  “ I am  truly  sorry  anything  should  have  happened 
to  cause  us  any  concern  from  that  quarter.  But  my  sisters 
trust  the  calm  will  not  long  be  disturbed;  though  I have 
always  feared  it  was  a deceitful  one,  and  that  we  have  been 
making  ourselves  happy  over  a barrel  of  gunpowder.  But, 
my  love,  let  me  hear  from  you,  and  tell  me  whether  I may 
see  you  when  I return  to  London.  All  this  nonsense  has 
been  kept  from  my  father,  or  it  must  have  vexed  him.” 

“ February  13th.  I would  rather,  my  dear  John,  write 
too  soon,  than  that  you  should  wonder  why  you  do  not  hear 
from  me;  but  you  have  already  so  much  to  distress  you,  that 
I hardly  know  if  I should  tell  you,  what  I fear,  will  only  do 
so  more.  The  kind  doctor  says,  he  * considers  me  no  longer 
as  his  grand-daughter/  and  from  the  knowledge  I have  of  his 
character,  I infer  he  means  what  he  says.  I have  not  seen 
his  letters.  Papa  says,  if  we  were  to  marry,  and  live  at 
Bergholt,  he  thinks  the  doctor  would  leave  the  place.” 

“ To  Miss  Bicknell,  February  18th.  I trust,  my  dearest 
love,  you  have  allowed  yourself  to  be  made  as  little  unhappy 
as  possible,  by  what  has  been  lately  passing  in  your  house. 
You  have  always  been  so  kind  as  to  believe  that  my  affection 
for  you  was  never  alloyed  by  worldly  motives.  I,  now, 
more  than  ever  repeat  it : and  I assure  you,  that  nothing  can 
be  done,  by  any  part  of  your  family,  that  shall  ever  make 
any  alteration  in  me  towards  you.  I shall  not  concern  my- 
self with  the  justice  or  injustice  of  others;  that  must  rest 
with  themselves ; it  is  sufficient  for  us  to  know  that  we  have 
done  nothing  to  deserve  the  ill  opinion  of  any  one.  Our 
business  is  now  more  than  ever  with  ourselves.  I am  entirely 
free  from  debt,  and,  I trust,  could  I be  made  happy,  to 
receive  a good  deal  more  than  I do  now  by  my  profession. 


56  Life  of  Constable 

After  this,  my  dearest  Maria,  I have  nothing  more  to  say, 
than  the  sooner  we  are  married  the  better;  and  from  this 
time,  I shall  cease  to  listen  to  any  arguments  the  other  way, 
from  any  quarter.  I wish  your  father  to  know  what  I have 
written  if  you  think  with  me” 

“ February  25th.  I was  expecting  to  hear  from  you,  my 
dearest  Maria,  all  last  week.  I wrote  you  a long  letter  last 
Sunday;  and  I am  very  anxious  to  hear  from  you  again,  as  I 
fear  you  are  unwell.  Do  give  me  a line  by  return  of  post, 
otherwise  it  is  probable  I may  come  to  London  on  Wednes- 
day. My  dear  father  is  no  better,  but  the  contrary.  His 
dropsy  certainly  increases,  and  Mr.  Travis  says  it  is  out  of 
his  power  to  help  him.  Mrs.  Whalley  is  here,  who  cheers 
our  fireside  a good  deal.  Her  mildness  and  serenity  always 
make  her  a most  welcome  guest  everywhere.  Do  pray  write 
to  me.  I am  restless  to  see  you;  yet  my  poor  father  is  in 
such  a sad  state,  that  every  week  we  look  for  the  change. 
But  tell  me  that  you  are  well,  and  I shall  be  easy.” 

“ Spring  Garden  Terrace,  February  26th.  My  dearest 
John,  I received  your  letter  at  Greenwich.  . . . Greenwich, 
I am  told,  is  a damp,  unhealthy  place,  and  I am  sorry  I went, 
for  it  has  delayed,  a few  days,  my  writing  to  you.  I walked 
out,  foolishly,  on  a very  damp  day,  and  have  got  a cold.  I 
have  had  a blister,  and  shall  now  be  well  in  a few  days;  I 
have  only  to  keep  quiet.  I will  write  to  you  again  in  a day 
or  two.  There  is  not,  my  dearest  John,  the  least  cause  for 
you  to  be  uneasy.  I fully  intended  writing  to-day,  and  only 
mention  this  cold  to  make  my  excuse  for  seeming  neglect. 
We  are  all  perfectly  quiet  here,  and  it  would  be  a great  pity 
for  you  to  leave  your  poor  father.  Perhaps  you  might  regret 
it.  It  must  be  a pleasure  to  him  to  have  you  with  him. 
Your  affection  is  a source  of  the  greatest  happiness  to  me; 
but  may  I entreat  that  you  will  not  wish  to  hear  very  fre- 
quently from  me.  It  only  makes  you  uncomfortable  if  I do 
not  write  on  the  day  you  imagine  I will.  Papa  says,  if  we 
remain  as  we  are,  he  has  no  expectation  that  the  doctor  will 
alter  his  will.  Let  us  then  wait  any  time,  rather  than  you 
should  experience  the  misery  of  being  much  in  debt,  added 
to  having  a very  delicate  wife.  ...  I am  glad  you  have 
the  addition  of  Mrs.  Whalley  to  your  society.” 

Towards  the  end  of  March,  Constable  arrived  in  town 
with  two  pictures  for  the  Academy,  one  of  which  is  called  in 


Death  of  Golding  Constable  57 

the  catalogue,  “ A Wheat  Field,”  and  the  other,  “ A Wood, 
Autumn.”  The  latter  was  purchased  by  Mr.  Watts. 

He  was  recalled  to  Bergholt  by  the  death  of  his  father, 
which  in  a letter  to  Miss  Bicknell  he  thus  describes:  “ My 
dear  father  died  while  sitting  in  his  chair  as  usual,  without  a 
sigh  or  pang,  and  without  the  smallest  alteration  of  his  posi- 
tion or  features,  except  a gentle  inclination  of  his  head 
forwards;  and  my  sister  Ann,  who  was  near  him,  had  to  put 
her  face  close  to  his  to  assure  herself  that  he  breathed  no 
more.  Thus  it  has  pleased  God  to  take  this  good  man  to 
Himself,  the  rectitude  of  whose  life  had  disarmed  the  grave 
of  its  terrors,  and  it  pleased  God  also  to  spare  him  the  pangs 
of  death.  May  19th,  1816.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  July  17th.  My  dearest  love,  You  would 
certainly  have  heard  from  me  before,  had  I left  London  on 
the  day  I mentioned,  but  I could  not  get  away  before  Tues- 
day. I found  all  my  friends  here  quite  well,  and  we  make 
a large  family  party;  nine  with  Mrs.  Whalley’s  two  children, 
and  your  portrait  (which  gives  great  pleasure  here,  as  an 
additional  proof  of  your  kindness  to  me).  ...  We  are  all 
very  happy  among  ourselves;  but  so  used  have  I been,  on 
entering  these  doors,  to  be  received  with  the  affectionate 
shake  of  the  hand  of  my  father,  and  the  endearing  salute  of 
my  mother,  that  I often  find  myself  overcome  by  a sadness  I 
cannot  restrain.  ...  I am  sitting  before  your  portrait; 
which  when  I look  off  the  paper,  is  so  extremely  like,  that  I 
can  hardly  help  going  up  to  it.  I never  before  knew  the 
real  pleasure  a portrait  can  afford.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  August  1 5th.  . . . How  well  you  knew 
what  I should  like,  when  you  sent  me  the  delightful  letters 
of  Gessner.  My  only  regret  is,  that  I have  finished  them  so 
soon.  I shall  send  to  the  library  for  the  rest  of  his  works. 
My  dear  John,  you  know  the  moments  were  too  short  and  too 
precious  for  me  to  write  a note  when  you  took  the  box;  but 
I expected  you  would  make  a very  pretty  speech  for  me 
when  you  gave  it  to  your  sister.  I am  very  glad  she  was 
pleased  with  it.  I had  great  pleasure  in  doing  it  for  her. 
Thank  you,  my  dear  John,  for  sending  me  your  sweet  picture. 
Come  early  this  evening.” 

When  Constable,  on  one  of  his  visits  to  Spring  Garden 
Terrace,  placed  himself  beside  Miss  Bicknell,  and  took  the 
hand  which  was  soon  to  be  given  to  him  for  life,  her  father 


58  Life  of  Constable 

said,  “ Sir,  if  you  were  the  most  approved  of  lovers,  you 
could  not  take  a greater  liberty  with  my  daughter.” — “ And 
don’t  you  know,  sir,”  he  replied,  “ that  I am  the  most 
approved  of  lovers?  ” — She  had  been  treated,  for  five  years, 
as  if  she  were  a boarding-school  girl  in  danger  of  falling  a 
prey  to  a fortune-hunter.  But  she  had  now  arrived  at  the 
age  of  twenty-nine;  a time  of  life  at  which,  patient  as  she 
was,  she  felt  entitled  to  determine  for  herself  a matter  which 
so  entirely  affected  her  own  happiness.  A journey  into 
Wales,  under  the  care  of  an  uncle,  was  proposed  to  her;  and 
in  allusion  to  this,  she  says,  in  a letter  to  Constable,  dated 
July  30  th,  “lam  not  to  go  unless  I get  stronger  than  I am  at 
present,  and  then  it  will  do  me  much  good,  the  change  of 
air  and  scene.  My  uncle  intends  to  take  plenty  of  time  for 
the  journey,  that  it  may  not  be  fatiguing.  I think,  there- 
fore, you  may  safely  trust  to  my  discretion,  and  then  my  dear 
John  shall  find  me  ready,  if  it  is  his  decided  wish,  for  another 
and  far  pleasanter  journey.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  August  20th.  ...  I do  not  like,  dear 
John,  that  you  should  have  to  borrow  money;  and  I think 
you  said  it  would  be  some  time  before  you  came  into  posses- 
sion of  your  own.  I only  suggest  this  for  our  consideration, 
but,  alas ! I know  too  well  that  you  have  thought  of  it  with 
sorrow.  Let  me  know  what  you  think,  for  it  makes  me 
perfectly  uncomfortable.  I am  glad  to  be  going  from  home 
for  a short  time.” 

“ East  Bergholt,  August  21st.  My  dearest  love,  I returned 
from  my  very  pleasant  visit  at  General  Rebow’s  on  Monday. 
. . . The  general  and  Mrs.  Rebow  are  determined  to  be  of 
some  service  to  me.  I am  going  there  again,  and  shall  stay 
a week,  in  all  probability.  Do  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  hear 
from  you  before  you  go  to  Mr.  Lambert’s.  I am  to  paint 
two  small  landscapes  for  the  general;  one  in  the  park,  of  the 
house,  and  a beautiful  wood  and  piece  of  water;  and  another 
a wood,  with  a little  fishing  house,  where  the  young  lady 
(who  is  the  heroine  of  all  these  scenes)  goes  occasionally  to 
angle.  They  wish  me  to  take  my  own  time  about  them; 
but  the  general  will  pay  me  for  them  when  I please,  as  he 
tells  me  he  understands,  from  Mr.  Driffield,  that  we  may  soon 
want  a little  ready  money.  They  are  both  well  acquainted 
with  our  history,  and  hope  to  see  us  there  together.  I am 
next  year  to  paint  another  picture  of  the  little  girl  with  her 


Wivenhoe  Park 


59 

donkey,  for  their  house  in  town.  This,  my  love,  is  just  such 
a commission  as  will  be  of  real  service  to  me.  I am  getting 
on  as  well  as  I can  wish  with  my  own  pictures;  but  these 
little  things  will  rather  interrupt  them,  and,  I am  afraid, 
will  detain  me  here  a week  or  two  longer  than  I could  have 
wished.” 

“ Putney  Heath,  August  23rd.  I thank  you,  dear  John, 
for  yours,  this  moment  received.  How  very  happy  the 
account  of  your  visit  makes  me ; you  seem  so  truly  comfort- 
able there.  I am  delighted  that  you  return  on  Monday,  and 
that  the  views  you  are  to  paint  are  so  pretty.  . . . My  uncle 
set  off  last  night  by  the  mail.  The  weather  has  so  much 
improved,  that  I have  been  silly  enough  to  regret  (only  for  a 
moment)  that  I did  not  go.  But  then,  poor  dear  papa!  I 
ought  sometimes  to  comply  with  his  wishes  with  pleasure.” 

“ Wivenhoe  Park,  August  30th.  My  dearest  love,  I have 
been  here  since  Monday,  and  am  as  happy  as  I can  be,  away 
from  you.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  kindness  of  the  general 
and  his  lady.  They  often  talk  of  you,  because  they  know  it 
will  please  me,  and  I am  sure  they  will  show  you  the  same 
attentions  they  show  me.  I feel  comfortable  with  them, 
because  I know  them  to  be  sincere  people;  and  though  of 
family,  and  in  the  highest  degree  refined,  they  are  not  at  all 
people  of  the  world,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  word. 
I am  going  on  very  well  with  my  pictures  for  them.  The 
park  is  the  most  forward.  The  great  difficulty  has  been  to 
get  so  much  in  it  as  they  wanted.  On  my  left  is  a grotto 
with  some  elms,  at  the  head  of  a piece  of  water;  in  the 
centre  is  the  house  over  a beautiful  wood;  and  very  far  to 
the  right  is  a deer  house,  which  it  was  necessary  to  add;  so 
that  my  view  comprehended  too  large  a space.  But  to-day 
I have  got  over  the  difficulty,  and  begin  to  like  it  myself.  I 
think  I shall  make  a large  picture  from  what  I am  now 
about.  When  do  you  return?  If  I should  be  delayed 
longer  in  the  country  than  I at  first  expected,  I shall  run  up 
for  a day,  to  see  you.  I shall  write  to  John  Fisher  soon.” 

“ Wivenhoe  Park,  September  7th.  My  dearest  love,  I 
hasten  to  send  you  the  enclosed  letter  from  our  friend  Fisher. 
I can  only  say,  that  I am  ready  to  adopt  any  plan  that  may 
meet  your  feelings  on  this  occasion,  and  I repeat  Fisher’s 
words,  that,  ‘ I shall  be  happy  and  ready  to  marry  you,’  at 
the  time  he  mentions.  I am  advised  by  my  good  friends 


6o 


Life  of  Constable 

here,  to  try  one  more  effort  with  the  doctor;  but  I shall  do 
entirely  in  this  as  you  direct.” 

The  following  is  the  letter  enclosed:  “ Osmington,  near 
Dorchester,  August  27th,  1816.  My  dear  Constable,  I am 
not  a great  letter  writer,  and  when  I take  pen  in  hand,  I 
generally  come  to  the  point  at  once.  I,  therefore,  write  to 
tell  you,  that  I intend  to  be  in  London  on  Tuesday  evening, 
the  24th,  and  on  Wednesday,  shall  hold  myself  ready  and 
happy  to  marry  you.  There,  you  see,  I have  used  no  round- 
about phrases;  but  said  the  thing  at  once,  in  good  plain 
English.  So,  do  you  follow  my  example,  and  get  you  to 
your  lady,  and  instead  of  blundering  out  long  sentences  about 
‘ the  Hymeneal  altar,’  etc.,  say  that  on  Wednesday,  September 
25th,  you  are  ready  to  marry  her.  If  she  replies,  like  a 
sensible  woman,  as  I suspect  she  is,  1 Well,  John,  here  is  my 
hand,  I am  ready,’ — all  well  and  good.  If  she  says,  ‘ Yes, 
but  another  day  will  be  more  convenient,’  let  her  name  it, 
and  I am  at  her  service.  And,  now  my  dear  fellow,  I have 
another  point  to  settle.  And  that  I may  gain  it,  I shall  put 
it  in  the  shape  of  a request.  It  is,  that  if  you  find,  upon 
your  marriage,  your  purse  is  strong  enough  to  make  a bit  of 
a detour,  I shall  reckon  it  a great  pleasure,  if  you  and  your 
bride  will  come  and  stay  some  time  with  my  wife  and  me. 
That  lady  joins  with  me  in  my  request.  The  country  here 
is  wonderfully  wild  and  sublime,  and  well  worth  a painter’s 
visit.  My  house  commands  a singularly  beautiful  view,  and 
you  may  study  from  your  very  window.  You  shall  have  a 
plate  set  by  the  side  of  your  easel,  without  your  sitting  down 
to  dinner.  We  never  see  company,  and  I have  brushes, 
paints,  and  canvas  in  abundance.  Of  an  evening,  we  will  sit 
over  our  autumnal  fireside,  read  a sensible  book,  perhaps  a 
sermon,  and  after  prayers,  get  us  to  bed,  at  peace  with  our- 
selves and  all  the  world.  Since  I have  been  quiet  down  here, 

out  of  the  way  of  the  turmoil  and  bustle  of  ’s  great 

dinners,  I have  taken  much  to  my  easel,  and  have  improved 
much.  Your  visit  will  be  of  wonderful  advantage  to  me. 
Tell  your  lady,  that  I long  to  be  better  acquainted  with  her, 
as  does  Mrs.  Fisher;  and  I beg  her  to  use  her  influence  with 
you  to  bring  you  to  see, — yours,  with  sincerity,  John  Fisher.” 
On  the  15th  September,  Constable  wrote  to  Miss  Bicknell: 
“ What  can  I do  about  writing  to  your  father?  will  it  be 
time  enough  if  I call  on  him  when  I come  to  town?  You 


Marriage  61 

must  be  my  adviser.”  She  replied:  “ Papa  is  averse  to 
everything  I propose.  If  you  please,  you  may  write  to  him ; 
it  will  do  neither  good  nor  harm.  I hope  we  are  not  going 
to  do  a very  foolish  thing.  . . . Once  more,  and  for  the  last 
time ! it  is  not  too  late  to  follow  papa’s  advice  and  wait.  . . . 
Notwithstanding  all  I have  been  writing,  whatever  you  deem 
best,  I do.  This  enchanting  weather  gives  one  spirits.” 

They  were  married  on  the  2nd  of  October,  1816,  at  St* 
Martin’s  Church,  by  Mr.  Fisher,  whose  invitation  to  Osming- 
ton  they  accepted.  Mr.  Fisher  had  himself  been  married 
but  three  months. 

Mr.  Bicknell  did  not  long  withhold  his  forgiveness  from 
his  daughter,  and  now  that  he  allowed  himself  opportunities 
of  knowing  Constable,  he  became  extremely  fond  of  him. 
In  one  of  Miss  Bicknell’s  letters  which  has  not  been  quoted, 
she  said,  “ It  grieves  me  that  papa  and  you  cannot  be  better 
acquainted,  but  the  loss  is  mutual.”  Dr.  Rhudde  was  not 
so  soon  reconciled  to  the  marriage,  but  at  his  death,  which 
occurred  in  1819,  he  left  his  grand-daughter  a legacy  she 
probably  little  expected  of  £4000. 


CHAPTER  V 
1817-1821 

Housekeeping.  Birth  of  a Son.  Exhibitions  1817,  18,  and  19.  Birth 
of  a Daughter.  Constable  elected  an  Associate  of  the  Royal 
Academy.  Sale  of  his  large  pictures  “ The  White  Horse  ” and 
“ Stratford  Mill  ” to  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Exhibition  1820. 
Matthews’  Diary  of  an  Invalid.  Stothard’s  “ Canterbury  Pil- 
grims.” White’s  Selborne.  Exhibition  1821.  Excursion  in 
Berkshire  and  to  Oxford.  Studies  at  Hampstead.  Criticisms  on 
the  “ Stratford  Mill.”  Constable’s  remarks  on  Skies. 

Although  my  acquaintance  with  Constable  began  about 
this  time,  I have  little  to  tell  of  the  next  two  years  of  his 
life  but  that  which  the  catalogues  of  the  Exhibition  furnish. 
I remember  him  in  1817  living  in  a small  house,  No.  1, 
Keppel  Street,  Russell  Square;  and  that  his  first  child,  a 
fine  boy,  to  whom  his  own  name  had  been  given,  might  be 
seen  almost  as  often  in  his  arms  as  in  those  of  his  nurse, 
or  even  his  mother.  His  fondness  for  children  exceeded, 
indeed,  that  of  any  man  I ever  knew. 

In  this  year  he  exhibited  at  the  British  Gallery,  “ A 
Harvest-field  with  Reapers  and  Gleaners,”  and  at  the 
Academy,  “ Wivenhoe  Park,”  “ A Cottage,”  a portrait  of 
Mr.  Fisher,  and  “ A Scene  on  a navigable  River;  ” and  in 
the  autumn  he  paid  a visit  to  Bergholt,  as  the  dates  of  some 
of  his  sketches  show. 

In  1818,  he  sent  to  the  Academy,  “ Landscape,  breaking 
up  of  a Shower,”  three  other  landscapes,  “ A Gothic  Porch,” 
and  “A  Group  of  Elms;”  the  two  last  being  drawings  in 
lead  pencil;  and  to  the  British  Gallery  he  sent,  “ A Cottage 
in  a Corn-field,”  probably  exhibited  at  the  Academy  the 
year  before.  The  cottage  in  this  little  picture  is  closely 
surrounded  by  the  corn,  which  on  the  side  most  shaded 
from  the  sun,  remains  green,  while  over  the  rest  of  the  field 
it  has  ripened ; one  of  many  circumstances  that  may  be  dis- 
covered in  Constable’s  landscapes,  which  mark  them  as  the 
productions  of  an  incessant  observer  of  nature.  But  these 
and  other  latent  beauties  passed  wholly  unnoticed  in  the 
Exhibitions;  indeed,  the  pictures  that  contained  them  were 

62 


Constable’s  Pictures 


63 

for  the  most  part  unheeded,  while  more  showy  works  by 
artists  whose  very  names  are  now  nearly  forgotten,  were  the 
favourites  of  the  day. 

Constable’s  art  was  never  more  perfect,  perhaps  never  so 
perfect,  as  at  this  period  of  his  life.  I remember  being 
greatly  struck  by  a small  picture,  a view  from  Hampstead 
Heath,  which  I first  saw  at  Ruysdael  House , as  Mr.  Fisher 
called  his  residence  in  Keppel  Street.  I have  before  noticed 
that  what  are  commonly  called  warm  colours  are  not  neces- 
sary to  produce  the  impression  of  warmth  in  landscape ; and 
this  picture  affords,  to  me,  the  strongest  possible  proof  of  the 
truth  of  this.1  The  sky  is  of  the  blue  of  an  English  summer 
day,  with  large,  but  not  threatening,  clouds  of  a silvery 
whiteness.  The  distance  is  of  a deep  blue,  and  the  near 
trees  and  grass  of  the  freshest  green;  for  Constable  could 
never  consent  to  parch  up  the  verdure  of  nature  to  obtain 
warmth.  These  tints  are  balanced  by  a very  little  warm 
colour  on  a road  and  gravel  pit  in  the  foreground,  a single 
house  in  the  middle  distance,  and  the  scarlet  jacket  of  a 
labourer.  Yet  I know  no  picture  in  which  the  mid-day  heat 
of  Midsummer  is  so  admirably  expressed;  and  were  not  the 
eye  refreshed  by  the  shade  thrown  over  a great  part  of  the 
foreground  by  some  young  trees,  that  border  the  road,  and 
the  cool  blue  of  water  near  it,  one  would  wish,  in  looking  at 
it,  for  a parasol,  as  Fuseli  wished  for  an  umbrella  when 
standing  before  one  of  Constable’s  showers.  I am  writing  of 
this  picture,  which  appears  to  have  been  wholly  painted  in 
the  open  air,  after  an  acquaintance  with  it  of  five-and-twenty 
years;  and,  on  referring  to  it  again  and  again,  I feel  my  first 
impressions,  whether  right  or  wrong,  entirely  confirmed. 
At  later  periods  of  his  life,  Constable  aimed,  and  successfully, 
at  grander  and  more  evanescent  effects  of  nature;  but  in 
copying  her  simplest  aspects,  he  never  surpassed  such  pic- 
tures as  this;  and  which,  I cannot  but  think,  will  obtain  for 
him,  when  his  merits  are  fully  acknowledged,  the  praise  of 
having  been  the  most  genuine  painter  of  English  landscape 
that  has  yet  lived. 

The  following  beautiful  passage  is  from  a letter  written  to 

1 It  is,  perhaps,  unnecessary  to  remark  that  we  associate  the  idea 
of  warmth  with  red,  orange,  and  yellow,  because  they  are  the  colours 
of  fire;  and  that,  in  a summer  landscape,  they  can  only  have  place 
in  very  small  proportions,  excepting  at  the  rising  and  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  the  coolest  hours  of  the  day. 


Life  of  Constable 


64 

Mrs.  Constable  in  May  1819,  while  he  was  on  a short  visit 
to  Bergholt:  “Everything  seems  full  of  blossom  of  some 
kind,  and  at  every  step  I take,  and  on  whatever  object  I 
turn  my  eyes,  that  sublime  expression  of  the  Scriptures, 
4 1 am  the  resurrection  and  the  life/  seems  as  if  uttered 
near  me.” 

In  1819,  he  sent  two  pictures  to  the  British  Gallery,  not 
before  exhibited,  “ Osmington  Shore,  near  Weymouth,”  and 
“ A Mill;  ” and  to  the  Academy  he  sent  the  largest  and  most 
important  work  he  had  yet  produced,  “ A Scene  on  the  river 
Stour,”  afterwards  called,  from  a white  horse  in  a barge  near 
the  foreground,  “ Constable’s  White  Horse.”  This  fine 
landscape,  which  was  too  large  to  remain  unnoticed,  attracted 
more  attention  than  anything  he  had  before  exhibited.  It  is 
the  one  mentioned  by  him  in  the  following  letter  to  Arch- 
deacon Fisher,1  dated  July  17th.  I should  like  of  all  things 
to  make  you  a visit  in  the  autumn,  though  I cannot  allow 
myself  to  be  sanguine;  yet  it  is  cheering  to  think  about  it; 
such  a visit  would  have  many  charms  for  me.  Your  society, 
the  cathedral,  the  walks,  and  those  mines  of  art,  Longford 
and  Wilton,  to  which  you  could  procure  me  admission  to 
make  some  studies.” 

“ The  price  I have  put  on  my  large  landscape  is  one  hun- 
dred guineas,  exclusive  of  the  frame;  it  has  served  a good 
apprenticeship  in  the  Academy,  and  I shall  work  a good  deal 
upon  it  before  it  goes  to  the  British  Gallery.  I should  hardly 
like  to  part  with  my  copy  of  Ruysdael;  its  being  an  old 
school  exercise  (of  which  I have  too  few),  gives  it  a value  to 
me  beyond  what  I could  in  conscience  ask  for  it.  We  will 
talk  about  the  Claude  when  we  meet.  I have  procured  the 
drawing  by  Cozens  for  you,  and  could  pictures  choose  their 
possessors,  you  would  have  had  many  like  it  long  ago.  I 

do  not  wonder  at  what  you  tell  me  of  poor ’s  pictures. 

Such  collections  and  judges  always  make  me  melancholy. 
I neither  visit  them  nor  talk  about  them  if  I can  help  it. 
But  such  things  are  driven  down  the  throats  of  ignorance, 
by  ignorance  still  more  overbearing,  backed,  by  the  bye, 
with  good  dinners.  ...  I have  made  a sketch  of  the  scene 
on  the  Thames,  which  is  very  promising.”  2 

1 Mr.  Fisher  had  been  installed  Archdeacon  of  Berkshire,  in  the 
latter  part  of  1817. 

2 “ The  Opening  of  Waterloo  Bridge.” 


Associate  of  the  Royal  Academy  65 

“ August  13th.  My  dear  Fisher.  I was  happy  to  receive 
your  friendly  letter  yesterday.  Nothing  would  give  me 
greater  pleasure  than  to  make  you  a visit,  and  I hope  to  be 
able  to  accomplish  it,  ere  long.  I am  under  an  engagement 
to  paint  the  portraits  of  General  and  Mrs.  Rebow,  at  Wiven- 
hoe  Park,  about  this  time.  I have  written  to  know  if  it  is 
still  his  wish,  and  when  I have  his  answer  you  shall  hear 
from  me  again.  My  wife  thanks  you  for  your  kind  inquiries 
after  her  and  her  infant.  They  are  both  well,  and  a more 
lovely  little  girl,  at  a month  old,  was  never  seen.  We  are 
so  proud  of  her,  and  at  the  same  time  so  ambitious,  as  to 
be  induced  to  ask  a great  favour:  it  is  our  wish  to  be  allowed 
to  name  you  for  her  Godfather.  We  shall  take  her  to  church 
in  a few  days,  and  shall  be  happy  to  hear  from  you.” 

In  October,  1819,  Constable  was  called  to  Bergholt  by  the 
division  of  his  father’s  property,  of  which  his  part  amounted 
to  £4000;  and  in  November  he  was  elected  an  Associate  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  on  which  occasion  he  received  the 
following  note  from  Mr.  Fisher:  “ Close,  Salisbury,  Novem- 
ber 1819.  My  dear  Constable,  The  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Fisher 
bid  me,  with  my  own,  to  present  their  congratulations  on 
your  honourable  election.  Honourable  it  is,  for  the  Royal 
Academy  is,  in  the  first  place,  an  establishment  of  this  great 
country,  and  as  such,  to  be  held  in  great  respect;  and  in 
the  second  place,  you  owe  your  election  to  no  favour,  but 
solely  to  your  own  unsupported,  unpatronised  merits.  I 
reckon  it  no  small  feather  in  my  cap  that  I have  had  the 
sagacity  to  find  them  out.” 

Mr.  Fisher  did  not  content  himself  with  praising  his  friend, 
but  by  the  purchase  of  “ The  White  Horse,”  while  he  mani- 
fested his  sincerity,  he  rendered  Constable  a service  which 
was,  perhaps,  of  more  importance  to  him  at  that  crisis  of 
his  life  than  it  would  have  been  at  any  later  period;  and  his 
desire  to  follow  this  up,  by  farther  acts  of  friendship,  will 
be  seen  in  a letter  dated  “ April  19,  1820.  My  dear  Con- 
stable, I am  under  obligations  to  an  architect  here,  who 
has  retired  from  business.  I want  to  make  him  a present  of 
something  near  £20.  I would  rather  give  him  one  of  your 
pictures,  if  I thought  he  would  appreciate  it.  See  what  you 
can  do  for  me.  ...  Do  not  part  with  your  London  and 
Westminster  view  without  apprising  me;  as  I rather  think 
I shall  like  to  have  it,  in  case  I am  strong  enough  in  purse. 

E 


66 


Life  of  Constable 


At  any  rate,  I can  do  you  no  harm  by  saying  no,  if  I cannot 
purchase.  I am  infinitely  obliged  by  your  purchase  of  the 
Claude.  You  can  send  it  me  down  with  the  picture.  You 
did  right  in  sending  the  sea-coast  windmill  to  the  exhibition. 
Pray  come  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  stay  as  long  as  you  can.” 
“ Salisbury,  April  27th.  ‘ The  White  Horse  ’ has  arrived 

safe;  it  is  hung  on  a level  with  the  eye,  the  frame  resting  on 
the  ogee  moulding  in  a western  side  light,  right  for  the  light 
in  the  picture.  It  looks  magnificently.  My  wife  says  she 
carries  her  eye  from  the  picture  to  the  garden  and  back 
again,  and  observes  the  same  sort  of  look  in  both.  I have 
shown  it  to  no  one,  and  intend  to  say  nothing  about  it,  but 
leave  it  to  people  to  find  it  out,  and  make  their  own  remarks. 
I am  quite  impatient  to  see  you  here,  and  wish  your  young 
family  would  permit  your  wife  to  join  the  party.  J.  Fisher.” 
The  “ White  Horse,”  on  many  accounts  the  most  impor- 
tant picture,  to  Constable,  he  ever  painted,  and  certainly  one 
of  the  finest,  is  now  in  the  possession  of  L.  Archer  Burton, 
Esq.,  of  the  Woodlands,  Hants.  In  a letter  written  to  Miss 
Gubbins  (a  lady  related  to  that  gentleman  and  to  Constable), 
at  a late  period  of  his  life,  he  calls  it,  “ one  of  my  happiest 
efforts  on  a large  scale,  being  a placid  representation  of  a 
serene  grey  morning,  summer.” 

“ Keppel  Street,  September  1st,  1820.  My  dear  Fisher, 
...  I have  settled  my  wife  and  children  comfortably  at 
Hampstead.  I am  glad  to  get  them  out  of  London  for 
every  reason.  Things  do  not  look  well,  though  I fear 
nothing.1  I hear  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  in  the  most 
imminent  danger  yesterday,  and  had  nearly  lost  his  life  by 
the  hands  of  an  old  woman!  We  had  a pleasant  journey  to 
London.  In  truth,  we  were  all  made  more  fit  for  such  an 
excursion  by  the  unbounded  kindness  of  yourself  and  Mrs. 
Fisher,  and  our  kind  friends  at  the  Palace.  Indeed,  my  dear 
Fisher,  my  wife  and  I feel  quite  at  a loss  how  to  speak  to 
you  of  these  things.  My  Salisbury  sketches  are  much  liked; 
that  in  the  Palace  grounds,  the  bridges  and  your  house  from 
the  meadows,  etc.  ...  I have  just  been  giving  some  relief 
to  the  poor  old  organist  you  saw  at  my  door;  he  is  almost 
in  a state  of  starvation,  with  a wife  and  children.  He  is 
taken  for  an  Italian,  and  is,  in  consequence,  in  danger  in  the 

1 The  excitement  occasioned  by  the  trial  of  Queen  Caroline  was  then 
at  its  height. 


Present  to  Mr.  Tinney  67 

streets.  I shall  venture  to  give  him  five  shillings  for  you, 
and  add  it  to  your  running  account.” 

I do  not  know  whether  the  present,  mentioned  in  Mr. 
Fisher’s  letter  of  the  19th  of  April,  was  made;  but  Mr. 
Tinney,  of  Salisbury,  as  the  Archdeacon’s  solicitor,  having 
rendered  him  some  services  for  which  he  felt  under  great 
obligations,  he  purchased  a large  picture  of  Constable,  which 
he  presented  to  that  gentleman ; but  as  Mr.  Fisher  considered 
the  price,  one  hundred  guineas,  to  be  far  below  its  value,  he, 
with  much  delicacy,  in  a letter  to  Constable,  spoke  of  the 
transaction  as  “ our  joint  present.”  This  noble  picture, 
which  I well  remember  in  the  exhibition  of  1820,  and  which 
has  since  been  admirably  engraved  by  Mr.  Lucas,  is  about 
as  large  as  “ The  White  Horse,”  and  has  more  subject. 
On  the  extreme  left  of  the  spectator,  the  wheel  and  part  of 
a water-mill  are  seen.  In  the  foreground  are  some  children 
fishing,  admirable  for  the  expression  of  their  attitudes,  their 
faces  not  being  seen.  Sir  George  Beaumont  said  of  the 
largest  boy,  that  “ he  was  undergoing  the  agony  of  a bite.” 
To  the  right,  and  in  the  middle  distance,  a barge  lies  with 
extreme  elegance  of  perspective  on  the  smooth  river;  light 
clouds  throw  their  shadows  over  a rising  distance  of  great 
beauty,  and  a group  of  tall  trees  forms  the  centre  of  the 
composition.  It  is  a view,  and  when  it  was  painted,  was  an 
exact  one  of  Stratford  Mill  on  the  Stour,  not  far  from  Berg- 
holt.1  Constable  sent  with  it  a small  picture  to  the  Academy, 
“ A View  of  Harwich  Lighthouse.” 

“ Weymouth,  February  14th,  1821.  My  dear  Constable, 
I am  here  paying  the  last  duties  to  my  wife’s  mother.  She 
died  silently  and  suddenly,  on  Monday  morning  at  three 
o’clock.  Rather  a singular  accident  happened  to  me  in  con- 
sequence of  her  death.  I was  in  the  church,  at  Osmington, 
with  the  old  clerk  alone,  pointing  out  the  site  of  her  grave, 
when  the  old  man  suddenly  exclaimed,  ‘ I cannot  stand,  sir/ 
and  dropping  into  my  arms,  died. 

“ When  you  next  see  Stothard  tell  him  the  following 
anecdote.  I went  to  call  upon  a poor  curate,  living  in  one 
of  our  mud  villages  on  a lonely  part  of  this  coast,  and  was 
shown  into  a dark  low  underground  parlour.  Casting  my 

1 Mr.  Lucas’s  engraving  of  this  picture  was  published,  after  the 
death  of  Constable,  with  the  title  of  “ The  Young  Waltonians.” 
A title  he  certainly  would  not  have  given  it. 


68 


Life  of  Constable 


eye  round  the  comfortless  walls,  it  was  refreshed  by  spying 
in  a corner  a most  charming  bit  of  light  and  shadow;  and 
walking  up  to  see  what  else  it  contained,  I found  Stothard’s 
“Canterbury  Pilgrims,” 1 with  the  morning  light  breaking  over 
the  Dulwich  Hills.  The  poor  man  little  less  than  worships 
this  print. — Pray  get,  at  your  circulating  library,  the  Diary 
of  an  Invalid.  You  will  be  much  amused  with  it;  for  it  is 
written  in  a lively  easy  manner.  When  you  come  to  his 
critiques  on  painting  and  statuary,  you  will  find  another  cor- 
roboration of  our  often  repeated  opinion  that  persons  of  the 
highest  education  in  the  sciences,  are  often  mere  children 
in  their  knowledge  of  the  art.  ...  As  soon  as  the  spring 
arrives  I will  make  a correct  sketch  of  our  ferry  house  at 
Portland,  and  send  it  to  you.  I saw  it,  the  other  day, 
standing  in  sea-bleached  desolation.  J.  Fisher.” 

Constable,  in  his  reply  to  this  letter,  after  condoling  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fisher  on  the  melancholy  news  with  which  it 
commenced,  says,  of  another  large  work  he  was  engaged  on, 
“ My  picture  is  getting  on,  and  the  frame  will  be  here  in 
three  weeks  or  a fortnight.  Believe  me,  my  dear  Fisher,  I 
should  almost  faint  by  the  way  when  I am  standing  before 
my  large  canvases,  were  I not  cheered  and  encouraged  by 
your  friendship  and  approbation.  I now  fear  (for  my 
family’s  sake)  I shall  never  make  a popular  artist,  a gentle- 
men and  ladies'  painter.  But  I am  spared  making  a fool  of 
myself,  and  your  hand  stretched  forth,  teaches  me  to  value 
what  I possess  (if  I may  say  so);  and  this  is  of  more  con- 
sequence than  gentlemen  and  ladies  can  well  imagine.  The 

Bishop  and  Mrs.  Fisher  attacked  me  about ’s  pantomime 

again,  yesterday ; but  I spoke  my  mind,  as  the  shortest  way. 
I could  not  sacrifice  myself  to  such  gross  ignorance.” 

The  “ pantomime  ” here  alluded  to  was  an  extravagant  and 
melo-dramatic  conception  of  historical  art,  at  that  time 
popular.  The  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  though  a man  of  great 
refinement  of  mind,  was  no  judge  of  painting,  and  was, 
therefore,  led  away,  on  that  subject,  by  the  fashions  of  the 
time.  His  unceasing  kindness  to  Constable,  whose  art  he 
did  not  appreciate,  was  the  result  of  friendship  alone. 

1 Constable  told  me  he  was  in  Stothard’s  room  when  he  was  finishing 
the  picture  of  the  “ Pilgrims,”  and  that  he  was  then  painting  the  two 
dogs  gambolling  at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade.  They  were  the  last 
objects  introduced  into  the  composition. 


“The  Hay  Wain  ” 69 

“ Close,  Salisbury,  March  6th.  My  dear  Constable,  . . . 
I am  reading,  for  the  third  time,  White’s  Natural  History 
of  Selborne.  It  is  a book  that  would  delight  you,  and  be 
highly  instructive  to  you  in  your  art,  if  you  were  not  already 
acquainted  with  it.  White  was  the  clergyman  of  the  place, 
and  occupied  himself  with  narrowly  observing  and  noting 
down  all  the  natural  occurrences  that  came  within  his  view : 
and  this  for  a number  of  years.  It  is  most  elegantly  written. 
I fear  the  book  is  scarce.  But  if  you  can  procure  it,  buy 
it  for  me  and  keep  it  by  you.  It  is  in  your  own  way  of 
close  observation,  and  has  in  it  that  quality  that,  to 
me,  constitutes  the  great  pleasure  of  your  society.  . . . 
J.  Fisher.” 

In  1821,  Constable  exhibited  four  pictures  at  Somerset 
House,  “ Hampstead  Heath,”  “ A Shower,”  “ Harrow,”  and 
“ Landscape,  Noon;  ” the  last  was  the  third  he  had  painted 
on  a six-foot  canvas,  encouraged  to  proceed  with  works  on 
so  large  a scale  by  Mr.  Fisher’s  two  purchases.  This  picture 
is  mentioned  in  the  next  letter,  and  will  be  again  spoken  of 
as  “ The  Hay  Wain.” 

“ To  Archdeacon  Fisher.  No.  1,  Keppel  Street,  April  1st, 
1821.  . . . My  picture  goes  to  the  Academy  on  the  10th; 
it  is  not  so  grand  as  Tinney’s.  Owing,  perhaps,  to  the  masses 
not  being  so  impressive,  the  power  of  the  chiaroscuro  is 
lessened,  but  it  has  a more  novel  look  than  I expected.  I 
have  yet  much  to  do  to  it,  and  calculate  on  three  or  four 
days  there.  I hear  of  so  many  clever  pictures,  particularly 
by  non-members,  that  it  must  be  a capital  show.  They  are 
chiefly  historical  and  fancy  pictures,  and  why?  the  Lon- 
doners, with  all  their  ingenuity  as  artists,  know  nothing  of 
the  feelings  of  a country  life,  the  essence  of  landscape.  . . . 
How  much  I am  obliged  to  you  for  the  mention  of  the  books. 
The  Diary  is  delightful,  it  has  given  me  new  information  on 
subjects  that  I have  heard  of  all  my  life.  No  doubt  the 
‘ Invalid  ’ is  a clever  fellow ; but  these  tourists  in  Italy 
think  they  must  talk  about  pictures,  and  relate  anecdotes 
of  painting.  I would  recommend  them  to  remember  the 
story  of  Alexander’s  visit  to  the  painting  room  of  Apelles. 
He  mentions  the  landscapes  of  Gaspar  Poussin  (whose  works 
contain  the  highest  feeling  of  landscape  painting),  and 
imagines  defects,  that  he  may  afford  an  opportunity  to  ‘ our 
own  Glover  ’ to  remedy  them.  This  is  too  bad;  and  he  here 


jo  Life  of  Constable 

shows  himself  to  be  truly  an  invalid.1  The  mind  that  pro- 
duced the  ‘ Selbome  ’ is  such  a one  as  I have  always  envied. 
The  single  page  of  the  life  of  Mr.  White  leaves  a more  lasting 
impression  on  my  mind  than  all  that  has  been  written  of 
Charles  V.  or  any  other  renowned  hero.  It  shows  what  a 
real  love  of  nature  will  do.  Surely  the  serene  and  blameless 
life  of  Mr.  White,  so  exempt  from  the  folly  and  quackery  of 
the  world,  must  have  fitted  him  for  the  clear  and  intimate 
view  he  took  of  nature.  It  proves  the  truth  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds’  remark,  that  ‘ the  virtuous  man  alone  has  true 
taste.’  This  book  is  an  addition  to  my  estate.  Stothard 
was  amused  with  your  mention  of  his  * Pilgrims,’  but  said  he 
believed,  ‘ many  of  his  prints  were  to  be  found  amongst  the 
Hottentots.’  I dined,  last  week,  at  Sir  George  Beaumont’s. 
Met  Wilkie,  Jackson,  and  Collins.  It  was  amusing  to  hear 

them  talk  of  ’s  picture.  Sir  George  said  some  clever 

things  about  it,  but  he  added,  ‘ even  allowing  the  composi- 
tion, its  only  merit,  to  be  something,  still  if  the  finest  com- 
position of  Handel’s  were  played  entirely  out  of  tune,  what 
would  it  be?  ’ ” 

In  June,  Constable  accompanied  his  friend  Fisher  during 
his  visitation  in  Berkshire,  and  made  some  beautiful  pencil 
and  washed  drawings  of  the  scenery  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Reading,  Newbury,  and  Abingdon.  He  also  visited  Oxford, 
with  Fisher,  and  made  an  exquisite  drawing  of  Blenheim, 
from  the  Park. 

“ Salisbury,  July  19th,  1821.  My  dear  Constable,  Your 
picture  is  hung  up  in  a temporary  way  at  Tinney’s,  till  his 
new  room  is  finished,  and  excites  great  interest  and  attention. 
How  does  ‘ The  Hay  Wain  ’ look  now  it  has  got  into  your 
own  room  again?  I want  to  see  it  there,  for  how  can  one 
participate  in  a scene  of  fresh  water  and  deep  noon-day  in 
the  crowded  copal  atmosphere  of  the  Exhibition?  which  is 

1 The  following  is  the  passage  from  Matthews’  Diary  of  an 
Invalid, , which  excited  his  indignation.  “ Doria  Palace.  Large 
collection  of  pictures;  Gaspar  Poussin’s  green  landscapes  have  no 
charms  for  me.  The  fact  seems  to  be,  that  the  delightful  green  of 
nature  cannot  be  represented  in  a picture.  Our  own  Glover  has  per- 
haps made  the  greatest  possible  exertions  to  surmount  the  difficulty, 
and  give  with  fidelity  the  real  colours  of  nature;  but  I believe  the 
beauty  of  his  pictures  is  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  their  fidelity;  and  that 
nature  must  be  stripped  of  her  green  livery,  and  dressed  in  the  browns 
of  the  painters,  or  confined  to  her  own  autumnal  tints  in  order  to  be 
transferred  to  canvas.” 


Claude 


71 

always  to  me  like  a great  pot  of  boiling  varnish.  . . . Yours 
very  sincerely,  John  Fisher.” 

“ No.  2,  Lower  Terrace,  Hampstead,  August  4th,  1821. 
My  dear  Fisher,  ...  I am  as  much  here  as  possible  with 
my  family.  My  placid  and  contented  companion  and  her 
three  infants  are  well.  I have  got  a room  at  a glazier’s, 
where  is  my  large  picture,  and  at  this  little  place  I have 
many  small  works  going  on,  for  which  purpose  I have  cleared 
a shed  in  the  garden,  which  held  sand,  coals,  mops,  and 
brooms,  and  have  made  it  a workshop.  I have  done  a good 
deal  here.  I have  fitted  up  my  drawing-rooms  in  Keppel 
Street,  and  intend  keeping  them  in  order,  hanging  up  only 
decent  works.  ‘ The  Hay  Wain  ’ looks  well  in  them,  but  I 
shall  do  more  to  it.  . . . I am  now  going  to  pay  my  court 
to  the  world.  I have  had  experience  enough  to  know  that 
if  a man  decries  himself,  he  will  find  people  ready  enough  to 
take  him  at  his  word.  Sir  George  Beaumont  is  going  to 
Italy;  he  has  presented  me  with  a beautiful  little  landscape, 
a mill,  the  same  mill  in  Tinney’s  picture,  it  is  quite  a Rem- 
brandt, full  of  tone  and  chiaroscuro.  There  is  some  hope  of 
the  Academy’s  getting  a Claude  from  Mr.  Angerstein’s,1  the 
large  and  magnificent  marine  picture,  one  of  the  most  per- 
fect in  the  world;  should  that  be  the  case,  though  I can 
ill  afford  it,  I will  make  a copy  of  the  same  size.  A study 
would  be  only  of  value  to  myself,  the  other  will  be  property 
to  my  children,  and  a great  delight  to  me.  The  very  doing 
it  will  almost  bring  me  into  communion  with  Claude  himself. 
Lawrence  told  me  that,  should  I really  wish  it,  it  would 
stimulate  him  to  farther  exertions  to  get  it  from  Mr.  Anger- 
stein.  In  the  room  where  I am  writing,  there  are  hanging 
up  two  beautiful  small  drawings  by  Cozens;  one,  a wood, 
close,  and  very  solemn;  the  other,  a view  from  Vesuvius, 
looking  over  Portici,  very  lovely.  I borrowed  them  from 
my  neighbour,  Mr.  Woodburn.  Cozens  was  all  poetry,  and 
your  drawing  is  a lovely  specimen.” 

“ Salisbury,  August  6th,  1821.  My  dear  Constable,  Very 
few  can  copy  Claude,  I exhort  you  to  it  by  all  means.  It 
will  secure  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  to  your  family,  and 
will  furnish  us  with  an  inexhaustible  store  of  pleasure.  I 
get  impatient  to  know  whether  your  wife  will  allow  you  to 

1 Pictures  are  lent  to  the  Academy  by  most  of  the  possessors  of  col- 
lections for  the  use  of  the  paihting-school. 


72  Life  of  Constable 

run  down  this  autumn.  Any  time  from  September  ist  to 
January  will  be  convenient  to  me,  and  you  need  not  be  at 
any  expense  at  all.  One  night  in  the  mail  and  you  are  here. 

The  assizes  are  holding,  and  C is  here.  Your  letters 

lay  on  the  table.  He  said,  that  there  were  some  parts  of 
your  last  picture  good.  I told  him  if  he  had  said,  all  the 
parts  were  good,  it  would  be  no  compliment,  unless  he  said 
the  whole  was  good.  Is  it  not  strange  how  utterly  ignorant 
the  world  is  of  the  very  first  principles  of  painting?  Here 
is  a man  of  the  greatest  abilities,  who  knows  almost  every 
thing,  and  yet  he  is  as  little  a judge  of  a picture  as  if  he  had 
been  without  eyes.  There’s  Matthews  again  with  4 his  own 
Glover.’  ” 1 

“ Hampstead,  September  20th,  1821.  My  dear  Fisher, 
How  much  I should  like  to  come  to  you ! and  I cannot  say 
I will  not,  but  I fear  I must  go  into  Suffolk  soon,  on  account 
of  a job.2  I have  made  some  studies,  carried  farther  than 
any  I have  done  before;  particularly  a highly  elegant  group 
of  trees  (ashes,  elms,  and  oaks),  which  will  be  of  as  much 
service  to  me  as  if  I had  bought  the  field  and  hedgerow 
which  contain  them;  I have  likewise  made  many  skies  and 
effects;  we  have  had  noble  clouds  and  effects  of  light  and 
dark  and  colour,  as  is  always  the  case  in  such  seasons  as  the 
present.  The  great  Claude  does  not  come  to  the  Academy 
this  year  (a  young  lady  is  copying  it),  but  they  expect  it 
next  year,  and  it  would  have  been  madness  for  me  to  have 
meddled  with  it  this  season,  as  I am  now  behindhand  with 
the  bridge.3  The  beautiful  Ruysdael, 4 The  Windmill  ’ which 
we  admired,  is  at  the  Gallery.  I trust  I shall  be  able  to 
procure  a memorandum  of  it;  and  there  is  a noble  N.  Pous- 

1 Lord  Dudley,  in  a letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Llandaff,  admirable  for 
its  good  sense  and  candour,  speaking  of  the  excellencies  of  the  old 
masters,  says,  “ I believe  that  merit  to  be  of  a sort  which  requires 
study,  habit,  and,  perhaps,  some  practical  knowledge  of  the  principles 
of  the  fine  arts,  to  perceive  and  relish.  You  remember  that  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  tells  us  he  was  at  first  incapable  of  tasting  all  the  excellence 
of  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  And  if  he,  already  no  mean  artist, 
was  still  uninitiated  in  some  of  the  higher  mysteries  of  art,  and  obliged 
at  first  to  take  upon  trust,  much  of  that  which  was  afterwards  made 
clear  to  him  by  further  study  and  labour,  what  shall  we  say  about 
the  sincerity  of  those,  who  knowing  so  much  less,  pretend  to  feel  so 
much  more?  For  my  own  part,  I think  of  them,  very  much  as  I 
should  think  of  anybody,  who,  being  just  able  to  pick  out  the  meaning 
of  a Latin  sentence,  should  affect  to  admire  the  language  and  versifica- 
tion of  the  Georgies.” 

8 A portrait,  3 His  fourth  large  picture. 


Skies 


73 

sin  at  the  Academy,  a solemn,  deep,  still  summer’s  noon, 
with  large  umbrageous  trees,  and  a man  washing  his  feet  at 
a fountain  near  them.  Through  the  breaks  in  the  trees  are 
mountains,  and  the  clouds  collecting  about  them  with  the 
most  enchanting  effects  possible.  It  cannot  be  too  much  to 
say  that  this  landscape  is  full  of  religious  and  moral  feeling.1 
It  is  not  large,  about  three  and  a half  feet,  and  I should  like 
to,  and  will,  if  possible,  possess  a facsimile  of  it.  I must 
make  time.  If  I cannot  come  to  you,  I will  send  you  the 
results  of  this  summer’s  study.  My  wife  and  children  are 
well,  we  have  not  had  an  hour’s  illness  all  the  summer.” 

On  the  26th  of  September,  Fisher  wrote  to  tell  Constable 
of  objections  that  were  made  to  the  sky  in  Mr.  Tinney’s 
picture,  by  a “ grand  critical  party  ” who  had  sat  in  judg- 
ment on  it.  “ After  talking  in  vain  for  some  time,”  he 
continues,  “ I brought  them  out  of  my  portfolio  two  prints 
from  Wouvermans  and  a Vander  Neer,  where  the  whole 
stress  was  laid  on  the  sky,  and  that  silenced  them.  While 
in  every  other  profession  the  initiated  only  are  judges,  in 
painting,  all  men,  except  the  blind,  think  themselves  qualified 
to  give  an  opinion.  The  comfort  is,  that  the  truth  comes 
out  when  these  self-made  connoisseurs  begin  to  buy  and 
collect  for  themselves.  At  Lord  Shaftesbury’s,  about  twelve 
miles  from  this  place,  there  is  a daylight  Vander  Neer. 
When  you  come  we  will  go  and  see  it.  I had  nearly  for- 
gotten to  tell  you  that  I was  the  other  day  fishing  in  the 
New  Forest  in  a fine  deep  broad  river,  with  mills,  roaring 
back-waters,  withy  beds,  etc.  I thought  often  of  you  during 
the  day.  I caught  two  pike,  was  up  to  the  middle  in  watery 
meadows,  ate  my  dinner  under  a willow,  and  was  as  happy 
as  when  I was  ‘ a careless  boy.’  What  have  you  done  with 
your  ‘ Midsummer  Noon,’  and  what  do  you  intend  to  do 
with  it?  ” 

“ Hampstead,  October  23rd,  1821.  My  dear  Fisher,  . . . 
I am  most  anxious  to  get  into  my  London  painting-room, 
for  I do  not  consider  myself  at  work  unless  I am  before  a 
six-foot  canvas.  I have  done  a good  deal  of  skying,  for  I 
am  determined  to  conquer  all  difficulties,  and  that  among 
the  rest.  And  now  talking  of  skies,  it  is  amusing  to  us  to 
see  how  admirably  you  fight  my  battles;  you  certainly  take 
the  best  possible  ground  for  getting  your  friend  out  of  a 
1 This  picture  is  in  the  National  Gallery. 


Life  of  Constable 


74 

scrape  (the  example  of  the  old  masters).  That  landscape 
painter  who  does  not  make  his  skies  a very  material  part  of 
his  composition,  neglects  to  avail  himself  of  one  of  his  greatest 
aids.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  speaking  of  the  landscapes  of 
Titian,  of  Salvator,  and  of  Claude,  says:  £ Even  their  skies 
seem  to  sympathise  with  their  subjects/  I have  often  been 
advised  to  consider  my  sky  as  ‘ a white  sheet  thrown  behind 
the  objects .’  Certainly,  if  the  sky  is  obtrusive,  as  mine  are, 
it  is  bad;  but  if  it  is  evaded,  as  mine  are  not,  it  is  worse; 
it  must  and  always  shall  with  me  make  an  effectual  part  of 
the  composition.  It  will  be  difficult  to  name  a class  of 
landscape  in  which  the  sky  is  not  the  key  note,  the  standard 
of  scale,  and  the  chief  organ  of  sentiment.  You  may  con- 
ceive, then,  what  a c white  sheet  ’ would  do  for  me,  impressed 
as  I am  with  these  notions,  and  they  cannot  be  erroneous. 
The  sky  is  the  source  of  light  in  nature,  and  governs  every- 
thing; even  our  common  observations  on  the  weather  of 
every  day  are  altogether  suggested  by  it.  The  difficulty  of 
skies  in  painting  is  very  great,  both  as  to  composition  and 
execution;  because,  with  all  their  brilliancy,  they  ought  not 
to  come  forward,  or,  indeed,  be  hardly  thought  of  any  more 
than  extreme  distances  are;  but  this  does  not  apply  to 
phenomena  or  accidental  effects  of  sky,  because  they  always 
attract  particularly.  I may  say  all  this  to  you,  though  you 
do  not  want  to  be  told  that  I know  very  well  what  I am 
about,  and  that  my  skies  have  not  been  neglected,  though 
they  have  often  failed  in  execution,  no  doubt,  from  an  over- 
anxiety about  them,  which  will  alone  destroy  that  easy 
appearance  which  nature  always  has  in  all  her  movements. 

“ How  much  I wish  I had  been  with  you  on  your  fishing 
excursion  in  the  New  Forest!  What  river  can  it  be?  But 
the  sound  of  water  escaping  from  mill-dams,  etc.,  willows, 
old  rotten  planks,  slimy  posts,  and  brickwork,  I love  such 
things.  Shakespeare  could  make  everything  poetical;  he 
tells  us  of  poor  Tom’s  haunts  among  £ sheep  cotes  and  mills.’ 
As  long  as  I do  paint,  I shall  never  cease  to  paint  such 
places.1  They  have  always  been  my  delight,  and  I should 
indeed  have  been  delighted  in  seeing  what  you  describe,  and 
in  your  company,  £ in  the  company  of  a man  to  whom  nature 

1 The  last  picture  he  painted,  and  on  which  he  was  engaged  on  the 
last  day  of  his  life,  was  a mill,  with  such  accompaniments  as  are 
described  in  this  letter. 


Salisbury  Cathedral  75 

does  not  spread  her  volume  in  vain.’  Still  I should  paint 
my  own  places  best;  painting  is  with  me  but  another  word 
for  feeling,  and  I associate  ‘ my  careless  boyhood  ’ with 
all  that  lies  on  the  banks  of  the  Stour;  those  scenes  made 
me  a painter,  and  I am  grateful ; that  is,  I had  often  thought 
of  pictures  of  them  before  I ever  touched  a pencil,  and  your 
picture  is  the  strongest  instance  of  it  I can  recollect;  but  I 
will  say  no  more,  for  I am  a great  egotist  in  whatever  relates 
to  painting.  Does  not  the  Cathedral  look  beautiful  among 
the  golden  foliage?  its  solitary  grey  must  sparkle  in  it.” 

“ Close,  Salisbury,  October  24th.  My  dear  Constable,  I 
had  a most  agreeable  breakfast  this  morning,  your  letter 
serving  me  in  lieu  of  the  newspaper,  which  is  now  too  dull 
to  read.  I was  glad  to  see  your  handwriting  so  clear  and 
smooth.  A certain  proof  of  a tranquil  mind.  I shall  be 
alone  and  disengaged  on  Saturday  the  3rd  of  November,  and 
continue  so  until  the  26th  of  the  same  month.  I think  the 
earlier  you  come  the  better.  I project,  if  the  weather  be 
fine,  to  go  and  see  Winchester  Cathedral.  The  roof  has 
been  near  falling  in,  owing  to  the  constant  cutting  away  of 
the  great  supporting  pillars  to  let  in  monuments  (of  folly  and 
bad  taste).  . . . Our  Cathedral  looks  well  this  weather, 
but  it  is  not  so  much  relieved  by  the  warm  tints  as  you 
would  imagine.  Owing  to  the  moisture  of  the  season,  and 
the  great  and  rapid  decomposition  of  the  vegetation,  there  is 
a constant  humid  halo,  which  makes  the  shadows,  at  all 
hours,  very  blue,  and  gives  the  landscape  a cold  tone.  I am 
sorry  your  children  have  been  unwell.  Mine  are  in  high 
health  and  good  humour.  How  many  dinners  a week  does 
your  wife  get  you  to  eat  at  a regular  hour,  and  like 
a Christian?  ” 

In  November,  Constable  visited  Salisbury,  where,  not- 
withstanding the  lateness  of  the  season,  he  made  some 
beautiful  sketches. 


CHAPTER  VI 
1822 

Mr.  Samuel  Lane.  Farrington.  Coxe’s  Life  of  Correggio.  Gold 
grounds.  Constable’s  fourth  large  Picture.  Stothard’s  “ Welling- 
ton Shield.”  Farrington’s  House.  The  Bishop  of  Salisbury. 
Studies  of  Skies.  Illness.  System  of  Copying  at  the  British 
Gallery.  Picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Bishop’s 
Grounds.”  David’s  Picture  of  “The  Coronation  of  Josephine.” 
Constable’s  dread  of  a National  Gallery. 

Soon  after  his  first  arrival  in  London,  Constable  had  become 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Samuel  Lane,  of  Greek  Street,  Soho; 
and  this  acquaintance  ripened  into  a friendship  which 
continued  to  the  end  of  his  life.  The  following  passage  is 
from  one  of  his  letters  which  Mr.  Lane  has  permitted  me 
to  make  use  of:  “ February,  1822.  My  dear  Lane,  I have 
been  with  my  wife  to  look  over  Mr.  Farrington’s  house, 
which  has  left  a deep  impression  on  us  both.  I could 
scarcely  believe  that  I was  not  to  meet  the  elegant  and 
dignified  figure  of  our  departed  friend,  where  I had  been  so 
long  used  to  see  him,  or  hear  again  the  wisdom  that  always 
attended  his  advice,  which  I do  indeed  miss  greatly.” 

“ Salisbury,  March  25th,  1822.  My  dear  Constable, 
Coxe  is  on  the  eve  of  publishing  Correggio ; but  he  has  some 
sad  stuff  in  it  about  the  manner  in  which  he  is  supposed 
to  have  mixed  his  colours,  and  talks  about  his  painting  on 
gold  leaf  to  produce  a warm  effect.  He  will  send  you,  by 
my  advice,  the  proof  sheets  of  that  part  of  his  work  which 
treats  of  Correggio’s  art,  for  your  correction.  . . . The 
above  was  written  yesterday.  I left  off,  trying  to  recollect 
some  anecdote  I had  to  tell  you.  I have  just  recalled  it 
to  my  memory.  It  is,  as  you  know,  part  of  the  Apocalypse, 
that  the  just  should  reign  a thousand  years,  and  then  the 
consummation  of  all  things.  During  the  tenth  century,  in 
consequence  of  this  prediction,  there  was  a universal  expec- 
tation that  the  world  was  about  to  end.  The  agitation  of 
men’s  minds  is  described,  by  contemporary  writers,  as 
extreme.  Among  other  effects  which  this  expectation 
produced,  was  the  neglect  to  repair  their  houses  and  churches. 

76 


Gold  Grounds  77 

So  that  when  the  dreaded  period  was  past,  their  buildings 
were  found  to  be  in  a most  dilapidated  condition.  The 
eleventh  century,  therefore,  was  much  occupied  in  building, 
repairing,  and  beautifying.  Hence  we  know,  that  few,  very 
few  of  our  buildings  can  be  older  than  that  period.  And 
that  the  eleventh  century  and  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth, 
are  probable  periods  to  which  to  refer  back  many  of  our 
most  beautiful  structures.  It  was  the  same  cause  that 
enriched  the  church  and  made  it  so  powerful.  Men,  expect- 
ing the  day  of  judgment,  were  glad  to  compound  for  their 
sins  by  granting  away  their  estates  (which  would  not  much 
longer  be  of  use  to  them  or  their  heirs)  to  religious  purposes. 
J.  Fisher.” 

“ Keppel  Street,  April  13th,  1822.  My  dear  Fisher,  I 
have  not  seen  any  of  the  sheets  of  Mr.  Coxe’s  Life  of  Cor- 
reggio ; but  I hear  of  a letter  from  him  to  Jackson,  expressing 
a desire  that  they  may  be  seen  by  his  friend  Constable. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  it  will  be  interesting,  but  as  to  painting 
on  gold  grounds,  it  is  all  over  with  the  alchymy  of  the  art, 
I hope  never  to  be  revived  again.  Yet  dark  ages  may 
return,  and  there  are  always  dark  minds  in  enlightened 
ones.  In  the  early  German  and  Italian  pictures,  gold  was 
used  for  glories,  etc.,  and  made  to  appear  as  a thing  uncon- 
nected with  the  painting,  and  so  far  supernatural;  and  this 
has  been  done  as  late  as  Carlo  Dolci,  and  it  sometimes 
appears  very  beautiful  when  blended  into  transparent 
colour  behind  the  heads  of  saints,  etc.  But  still  it  looks 
like  trick,  and  Correggio  was  above  all  trick,  nor  do  I believe 
he  ever  resorted  to  any  such  nonsense  to  aid  his  brightness. 
I have  sent  my  large  picture  to  the  Academy.  I never 
worked  so  hard  before.  I do  not  know  that  it  is  better  than 
my  others,  but  perhaps  fewer  vulgar  objections  can  be  made 
to  it.”  (The  writing  is  here  interrupted  by  a beautiful 
pen  sketch,  which  has  the  force  of  a mezzotinto  engraving.) 
“ The  composition  is  almost  totally  changed  from  what 
you  saw.  I have  taken  the  sail,  and  added  another  barge 
in  the  middle  of  the  picture,  with  a principal  figure,  altered 
the  group  of  trees,  and  made  the  bridge  entire.  The  picture 
has  now  a rich  centre,  and  the  right  hand  side  becomes  only 
an  accessory.  I have  endeavoured  to  paint  with  more 
delicacy,  but  hardly  anybody  has  seen  it.  I hear  of  some 
excellent  pictures.  I am  going  into  Suffolk  about  an  altar- 


7 8 Life  of  Constable 

piece,  a gift  from  a gentleman.  is  annoyed  by  your 

designating  his  old  masters  trash.  He  goes  by  the  rule  of 
name. 

“ I have  some  nibbles  at  my  large  picture  of  the  ‘ Hay  Wain/ 
in  the  British  Gallery.  I have  an  offer  of  £70  without  the 
frame  to  form  part  of  an  exhibition  in  Paris.  I hardly  know 
what  to  do.  It  might  promote  my  fame  and  procure  me 
commissions,  but  it  is  property  to  my  family;  though  I want 
money  dreadfully;  and,  on  this  subject,  I must  beg  a great 
favour  of  you,  indeed  I can  do  it  of  no  other  person.  The 
loan  of  £20  or  £30  would  be  of  the  greatest  use  to  me  at  this 
time,  as  painting  these  large  pictures  has  much  impoverished 
me.  If  you  can,  I know  you  will  oblige  me.  If  not,  say 
so.  This  summer  I shall  devote  to  money  getting,  as  I have 
several  commissions,  both  landscape  and  otherwise.  But  a 
large  picture,  and  if  possible,  a good  one,  was  necessary  this 
year.  The  next  must  take  its  chance.  I hope,  indeed  I 
really  believe,  I have  never  yet  done  anything  so  good  as 
the  one  now  sent. 

“ Stothard  has  published  his  beautiful  etching  of  ‘ The 
Shield  of  Wellington,’  three  and  a half  feet  circle.  Oblige 
me  and  my  dear  old  friend  by  purchasing  one.  My 
conscience  acquits  me  of  any  neglect  of  my  last  picture.  I 
have  dismissed  it  with  great  calmness  and  ease  of  mind.” 

Of  this  picture,1  another  view  on  the  Stour,  and  very  near 
Flat  ford  Mill,  an  admirable  line  engraving,  by  Mr.  W.  R. 
Smith,  is  published  in  Messrs.  Finden’s  Gallery  of  British 
Art;  and  a first  sketch  of  the  subject  is  engraved  in  the 
English  Landscape. 

“ Keppel  Street,  April  17th.  My  dear  Fisher,  Accept 
my  thanks  for  your  very  kind  letter.  The  contents  will  be 
highly  useful,  for,  as  I told  you,  I had  been  so  long  upon 
unprofitable  canvas  that  I was  getting  hard  run.  But  I am 
now  busy  on  some  minor  works  which  will  bring  things  soon 
about  again.  My  writing  requires  much  apology;  but  1 
Seldom  sit  down  till  I am  already  fatigued  in  my  painting- 
room,  and  near  the  post  hour,  and  I must  say  of  my  letters 
as  Northcote  says  of  his  pictures,  4 1 leave  them  for  the 
ingenious  to  find  out.’  I made  two  or  three  fruitless  attempts 
to  read  the  last  I sent  you,  and  the  postman  ringing  his  bell 
at  the  moment,  I dismissed  it.  I must  work  hard  this 
xAt  present  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  William  Carpenter. 


Farrington’s  House  79 

summer,  but  I should  like  much  to  take  the  Windsor 
coach  to  hear  your  sermon,  though  I can  ill  spare  a day,  and 
now  that  I have  an  opportunity  of  earning  a little  money, 
I must  make  it  a religious  duty  to  do  it.  I shall  not  let  the 
Frenchman  have  my  picture.  It  would  be  too  bad  to  allow 
myself  to  be  knocked  down  by  a Frenchman.  In  short, 
it  may  fetch  my  family  something  one  time  or  other,  and 
it  would  be  disgracing  my  diploma  to  take  so  small  a sum, 
less  by  near  one  half  than  the  price  I asked. 

“ Several  cheering  things  have  lately  happened  to  me, 
professionally.  I am  certain  my  reputation  rises  as  a land- 
scape painter,  and  that  my  style  of  art,  as  Farrington  always 
said  it  would,  is  fast  becoming  a distinct  feature.  I am 

anxious  about  this  picture.  My  neighbour  , who 

expects  to  be  an  Academician  before  me,  called  to  see  it. 
He  has  always  praised  me;  now  he  said  not  a word;  till,  on 
leaving  the  room,  he  looked  back  and  said,  he  hoped  his 
picture  would  not  hang  near  it. 

“ I trust  you  will  come  to  London  on  your  visitation;  I 
shall  be  much  disappointed  if  you  do  not.  I am  about 
Farrington’s  house;  I think  this  step  necessary;  I shall  get 
more  by  it  than  my  family,  in  conveniences,  though  I am 
loth  to  leave  a place  where  I have  had  so  much  happiness, 
and  where  I painted  my  four  landscapes;  but  there  is  no 
end  to  giving  way  to  fancies ; occupation  is  my  sheet  anchor. 
My  mind  would  soon  devour  me  without  it.  I felt  as  if  I had 
lost  my  arms  after  my  picture  was  gone  to  the  Exhibition. 
I dare  not  read  this  letter  over,  take  it  as  one  of  my  sketches.” 

“ April.  My  dear  Fisher,  I have  been  to  Farrington’s 
this  morning;  they  are  sharp  about  the  house,  and  wished 
me  to  take  the  fixtures,  and  such  of  the  furniture  as  I may 
like,  at  a valuation.  I have  refused  the  latter,  so  stands  the 
matter  at  present;  they  will  sell  the  Wilsons; 1 they  are  well 
worth  sixty,  or  eighty,  or  even  a hundred  guineas  the  pair. 

“ Tinney  is  confined  to  town  by  indisposition;  I have 
seen  him  often,  and  he  views  me  favourably  for  your  sake, 
and  is  determined  to  love  painting  as  an  intellectual  pursuit 
of  the  most  delightful  kind,  in  preference  to  dirt,  and  old 
canvas,  varnish,  etc.  He  has  desired  me  to  paint  him,  as  a 
companion  to  his  landscape,  another  picture  at  my  leisure 

1 Two  beautiful  little  views  in  Italy,  now  in  the  possession  of  Miss 
Rogers. 


8o 


Life  of  Constable 

for  a hundred  guineas.1  If,  however,  I am  offered  more 
for  it,  even  five  hundred  guineas,  I may  take  it,  and  begin 
another  for  him.  This  is  very  noble  (when  all  the  nobility 
let  my  picture  come  back  to  me  from  the  Gallery),  and  will 
enable  me  to  do  another  large  picture,  to  keep  up  and  add 
to  my  reputation.  . . . How  much  I should  like  to  be 
now  at  Osmington;  but  work  I must  and  will.  If  I recollect, 
the  ashes  have  very  beautiful  mosses,  and  their  stems  are 
particularly  rich  at  Osmington.  I have  never  thanked  you 
for  your  account  of  the  middle  ages  and  the  expectation  of 
the  last  day.  I was  not  aware  that  its  influence  was  so 
enormous.” 

In  1822,  Constable  exhibited  at  the  Academy  five  pictures, 
“ Hampstead  Heath,”  “ A View  on  the  Stour,  near  Dedham,” 
“ Malvern  Hall,  Warwickshire,”  “ A View  of  the  Terrace, 
Hampstead,”  and  “ A Study  of  Trees  from  Nature.” 

The  next  letter  is  from  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  “ Malms- 
bury,  August  3rd,  1822.  Dear  Sir,  My  daughter  Elizabeth 
is  about  to  change  her  situation,  and  try  whether  she  cannot 
perform  the  duties  of  a wife  as  well  as  she  has  done  those 
of  a daughter.  She  wishes  to  have  in  her  house  in  London 
a recollection  of  Salisbury;  I mean,  therefore,  to  give  her 
a picture,  and  I must  beg  of  you  either  to  finish  the  first 
sketch  of  my  picture,  or  to  make  a copy  of  the  small  size. 
I wish  to  have  a more  serene  sky.  I am  now  on  my  visitation, 
and  shall  not  be  at  Salisbury  till  the  20th,  but  my  letters 
follow  me.” 

“ Osmington,  October  1st.  My  dear  Constable.  . . . 
Captain  Forster,  a gentleman  of  property,  near  Windsor,  is 
an  admirer  of  your  art.  He  is  to  meet  you  at  Salisbury,  he 
was  first  caught  by  a sketch-book  of  yours  which  I had. 
Your  pencil  sketches  always  take  people,  both  learned  and 
unlearned.  Surely  it  would  answer  to  publish  a few  of  them. 
Get  one  done  on  stone,  as  an  experiment,  unless  it  is  deroga- 
tory from  the  station  you  hold  in  the  art.  ...  J.  Fisher.” 

“ To  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Hampstead,  October  7th,  1822. 
My  dear  Fisher,  several  adverse  circumstances  had  yielded 
to  my  wishes,  and  I had  determined  on  meeting  you  at 
Salisbury  on  the  day  appointed;  but  things  have  changed 

1 This  commission  from  Mr.  Tinney  was  never  executed;  why,  I 
know  not ; but  I believe  Constable  afterwards  painted  for  him  one  or 
two  small  pictures. 


Studies  of  Skies 


8 i 


again,  and  I know  not  how  to  come  so  far  as  Weymouth. 
The  loss  of  four  days  on  the  road  is  serious,  and  I am  now 
in  the  midst  of  a great  struggle,  and  time  is  my  estate.  I 
have  got  several  of  my  commissions  into  tolerable  forward- 
ness, especially  two  kit-cat  landscapes  for  Mr.  Ripley,  and 
I am  determined  to  overcome  all  my  difficulties  while  a 
great  deal  of  health  and  some  little  youth  remains  to  me. 
I have  got  things  into  a train,  by  following  which  they  are 
made  comparatively  easy.  Such  a journey  would  turn  me 
inside  out,  and  a visit  to  your  coast  would  wash  my  brains 
entirely.  I must  wait,  and  still  hope  to  meet  you  when 
quite  convenient  to  yourself,  and  when  you  return  to  the 
Close.  I shall  send  you  some  picture  to  look  at.  ‘ Green 
Highgate  ’ has  now  changed  its  frame,  and  become  a very 
pretty  picture,  and  deserves  a better,  or  at  least,  a new 
name.  I have  made  about  fifty  careful  studies  of  skies, 
tolerably  large  to  be  careful.  I do  not  regret  not  seeing 
Fonthill;  I never  had  a desire  to  see  fights,  and  a gentleman’s 
park  is  my  aversion. 

“It  is  singular  that  I happened  to  speak  of  Milman;  no 
doubt  he  is  learned,  but  it  is  not  fair  to  encumber  literature. 
The  world  is  full  enough  of  what  has  been  already  done, 
and  as  in  the  art  there  is  plenty  of  fine  painting  but  very  few 
good  pictures,  so  in  poetry  there  is  plenty  of  fine  writing, 
and  I am  told  his  is  such,  and  as  you  say,  ‘ gorgeous ; ’ but 
it  can  be  compared;  Shakespeare  cannot;  nor  Burns,  nor 
Claude,  nor  Ruysdael,  and  it  has  taken  me  twenty  years  to 
find  this  out.  This  is,  I hope,  my  last  week  here,  at  least 
this  summer;  it  is  a ruinous  place  to  me;  I lose  time  here 
sadly.  One  of  my  motives  for  taking  Charlotte  Street  was 
to  remain  longer  in  London.  In  Keppel  Street  we  wanted 
room,  and  were  ‘ Like  bottled  wasps  upon  a southern  wall;  ’ 
but  the  five  happiest  years  of  my  life  were  passed 
there.” 

Twenty  of  Constable’s  studies  of  skies  made  during  this 
season  are  in  my  possession,  and  there  is  but  one  among  them 
in  which  a vestige  of  landscape  is  introduced.  They  are 
painted  in  oil,  on  large  sheets  of  thick  paper,  and  all  dated, 
with  the  time  of  day,  the  direction  of  the  wind,  and  other 
memoranda  on  their  backs.  On  one,  for  instance,  is  written, 
“ 5th  of  September,  1822.  10  o’clock,  morning,  looking 

south-east,  brisk  wind  at  west.  Very  bright  and  fresh  grey 

F 


82 


Life  of  Constable 

clouds  running  fast  over  a yellow  bed,  about  half  way  in  the 
sky.  Very  appropriate  to  the  ‘ coast  at  Osmington.5  ” 

“ 35,  Charlotte  Street,  Fitzroy  Square,  October  31st, 
1822.  My  dear  Fisher,  We  left  Hampstead  a fortnight  ago 
last  Friday,  and  I have  not  yet  had  my  pencil  in  my  hand. 
I got  laid  up  attending  bricklayers  and  carpenters  at  six  and 
seven  in  the  morning,  leaving  a warm  bed  for  cold  damp 
rooms  and  washhouses,  for  I have  had  immense  trouble  to 
get  the  house  habitable;  but,  though  I am  now  quite  well,  I 
am  aware  that  the  time  is  past  in  which  it  was  convenient 
for  you  to  receive  me.  It  has  proved  a very  great  disappoint- 
ment to  me,  and  I fear  that  my  not  coming  has  vexed  you, 
especially  as  I have  not  heard  from  you.  I have  got  the 
large  painting-room  into  excellent  order;  it  is  light,  airy, 
sweet,  and  warm;  I,  at  one  time,  despaired  of  attaining 
either  of  these  qualities.  I have  now  two  six-footers  in 
hand, — one  of  which  I shall  send  to  the  Gallery  at  £200. 

“ The  art  will  go  out ; there  will  be  no  genuine  painting  in 
England  in  thirty  years.  This  will  be  owing  to  pictures 
driven  into  the  empty  heads  of  the  junior  artists  by  their 
owners,  the  directors  of  the  British  Institution,  etc.  In  the 
early  ages  of  the  fine  arts,  the  productions  were  more  affecting 
and  sublime,  for  the  artists  being  without  human  exemplars, 
were  forced  to  have  recourse  to  nature;  in  the  latter  ages,  of 
Raphael  and  Claude,  the  productions  were  more  perfect,  less 
uncouth,  because  the  artists  could  then  avail  themselves  of 
the  experience  of  those  who  were  before  them,  but  they  did 
not  take  them  at  their  word,  or  as  the  chief  objects  of  imita- 
tion. Could  you  but  see  the  folly  and  ruin  exhibited  at  the 
British  Gallery,  you  would  go  mad.  Vander  Velde,  and 
Gaspar  Poussin,  and  Titian,  are  made  to  spawn  multitudes 
of  abortions:  and  for  what  are  the  great  masters  brought 
into  this  disgrace  ? only  to  serve  the  purpose  of  sale.  Holland 
has  sold  a shadow  of  Gaspar  Poussin  for  eighty  guineas,  and 
it  is  no  more  like  Gaspar  than  the  shadow  of  a man  on  a 
muddy  road  is  like  himself.”  1 

1 The  directors  of  the  British  Institution  are  assuredly  not  account- 
able for  the  abuse  of  the  privilege  they  grant  annually  to  artists  of 
making  copies  from  the  old  masters  at  their  Gallery;  a privilege  of 
which  some  of  our  best  painters  have  availed  themselves  with  advan- 
tage to  their  own  practice,  and  of  which  Constable  had  himself  intended! 
to  make  use.  He  did  not  sufficiently  consider  that  those  who  are- 
content  to  spend  much  of  their  time  in  copying  pictures,  are  not  of 
that  class  who  would  advance  or  even  support  the  art  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. 


Picture  of  Salisbury  Cathedral  83 

A letter  from  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury  to  Constable,  dated 
November  12th,  contained  a draft  with  these  words: 
“ Lawyers  frequently  receive  retaining  fees,  why  should  not 
painters  do  the  same?  ” The  picture  he  was  engaged  on  for 
the  bishop,  was  finished  and  exhibited  in  the  following  spring. 
It  is  an  extremely  beautiful  work,  and  one  with  which  he 
took  great  pains,  a view  of  the  “ Cathedral  from  the  Bishop’s 
Grounds.”  In  the  foreground  he  introduced  a circumstance 
familiar  to  all  who  are  in  the  habit  of  noticing  cattle.  With 
cows  there  is  generally,  if  not  always,  one  which  is  called, 
not  very  accurately,  the  master  cow , and  there  is  scarcely  any 
thing  the  rest  of  the  herd  will  venture  to  do  until  the  master 
has  taken  the  lead.  On  the  left  of  the  picture  this  individual 
is  drinking,  and  turns  with  surprise  and  jealousy  to  another 
cow  approaching  the  canal  lower  down  for  the  same  purpose ; 
they  are  of  the  Suffolk  breed,  without  horns;  and  it  is  a 
curious  mark  of  Constable’s  fondness  for  everything  con- 
nected with  his  native  county,  that  scarcely  an  instance  can 
be  found  of  a cow  in  any  of  his  pictures,  be  the  scene  where  it 
may,  with  horns. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  December  6th.  My  dear  Fisher,  There 
is  nothing  so  cheering  to  me  as  the  sight  of  your  handwriting, 
yet  I am  dilatory  in  answering  you.  I will  gladly  do  all  I 

can  for  R 1 and  his  picture,  but  you  know  I can  only 

send  it,  I possess  no  favour  in  that  place,  I have  no  patron 
but  yourself,  and  you  are  not  a grandee;  you  are  only  a 
gentleman  and  a scholar,  and  a real  lover  of  the  art.  I will 

mention  R ’s  picture  to  Young,  and  this  is  all  that  is  in 

my  power.  Is  it  not  possible  to  dissuade  him  from  coming 
to  London,  where  he  will  be  sure  to  get  rid  of  what  little  local 
reputation  he  may  have  ? But  perhaps  he  prefers  starving 
in  a crowd,  and  if  he  is  determined  to  adventure,  let  him  by 
all  means  preserve  his  flowing  locks,  they  will  do  him  more 
service  than  even  the  talents  of  Claude  Lorraine,  if  he 
possessed  them. 

“ shall  have  his  picture  when  I can  find  an  oppor- 

tunity of  sending  it.  Had  I not  better  grime  it  down  with 
slime  and  soot,  as  he  is  a connoisseur,  and  perhaps  prefers 
filth  and  dirt  to  freshness  and  beauty? 

“ I have  been  to  see  David’s  picture  of  ‘ The  Coronation 

1 A young  artist  of  Salisbury  who  had  sent  a picture  to  town  for 
exhibition  at  the  British  Gallery. 


Life  of  Constable 


84 

of  the  Empress  Josephine.’  It  does  not  possess  the  common 
language  of  the  art,  much  less  anything  of  the  oratory  of 
Rubens  or  Paul  Veronese,  and  in  point  of  execution  it  is 
below  notice;  still  I prefer  it  to  the  productions  of  those 
among  our  historical  painters  who  are  only  holding  on  to  the 
tail  of  the  shirt  of  Carlo  Maratti,  simply  because  it  does  not 
remind  me  of  the  schools.  I could  not  help  feeling  as  I did 
when  I last  wrote  to  you  of  what  I saw  at  the  British  Institu- 
tion. Should  there  be  a National  Gallery  (which  is  talked  of), 
there  will  be  an  end  of  the  art  in  poor  old  England,  and  she 
will  become,  in  all  that  relates  to  painting,  as  much  a nonentity 
as  every  other  country  that  has  one.  The  reason  is  plain; 
the  manufacturers  of  pictures  are  then  made  the  criterions 
of  perfection,  instead  of  nature.” 

Here,  as  well  as  in  his  remarks  on  the  system  of  copying 
pursued  at  the  British  Gallery,  Constable’s  inference  seems 
hasty.  Neither  connoisseurs  nor  legislators  can  promote  the 
rise  or  hasten  the  decline  of  the  arts  in  any  material  degree. 
A multitude  of  concurring  circumstances,  varying  in  every 
age  and  nation,  contribute  to  these;  meantime,  it  is  some- 
thing that  a collection  of  fine  pictures  should  be  accessible  to 
the  public;  and  if  the  National  Gallery  should  help,  only  in 
a small  degree,  to  keep  our  young  artists  from  the  dissipation 
of  their  time,  and  the  injury  their  unformed  minds  receive 
while  running  all  over  Europe  in  quest  of  the  art,  which  can 
only  be  acquired  by  years  of  patient  and  settled  industry,  it 
may  effect  some  good.1  Constable,  at  this  moment,  forgot 
what  at  other  times  he  fully  admitted,  that  good  pictures  are 
the  necessary  interpreters  of  nature  to  the  student  in  art.  If 
the  reader  will  turn  to  the  end  of  the  book,  he  will  find  in 
the  remarks  on  Claude,  in  the  lecture  he  delivered  on  the 
2nd  of  June  1836,  at  the  Royal  Institution,  and  on  Rem- 

1 Those  who  are  old  enough  to  compare  the  present  state  of  painting* 
among  us,  with  what  it  was  before  the  Continent  was  thrown  open  to 
our  artists,  cannot  but  have  misgivings  as  to  the  advantage  of  foreign 
travel  to  British  students.  If,  as  it  may  be  feared,  we  are  more  and 
more  losing  sight  of  nature,  it  may  be  less  owing  to  the  influence  of 
the  National  Gallery,  than  to  the  example  from  abroad  of,  I will  not 
call  it  imitation  but  mimicry  of  early  art.  This  is  so  easy  a thing 
to  succeed  in,  and  is  so  well  calculated  to  impose  on  ourselves  and 
others  a belief  that  we  possess  the  spirit  of  the  primitive  ages  of  art, 
that  we  cannot  too  carefully  guard  against  its  seduction.  The  purity 
of  heart  belonging  to  childhood  is,  no  doubt,  as  desirable  to  the 
painter  as  to  the  Christian,  but  we  do  not  acquire  this  by  merely 
imitating  the  lisp  of  infancy. 


Sir  George  Beaumont  85 

brandt  at  the  close  of  the  next  lecture,  his  settled  opinions 
on  this  subject.  But  that  his  dread  of  picture  worship  should 
lead  him  to  express  himself  as  he  did,  in  the  letter  last  quoted, 
I can  well  understand,  knowing  as  I do  the  notions  prevailing 
among  the  artists  and  amateurs  with  whom  he  lived.  Among 
the  last  may  be  particularly  mentioned  the  amiable  and 
accomplished  Sir  George  Beaumont,  at  that  time  the  leader 
of  taste  in  the  fashionable  world.  Few  men  better  dis- 
criminated, than  did  Sir  George,  the  various  excellencies  of 
the  old  masters ; but  he  never  considered  how  many  beauties 
might  remain  in  nature  untouched  by  their  pencils,  and 
consequently  he  was  averse  to  any  deviation  from  their 
manner.  It  is  curious,  that  throughout  the  whole  of  his 
intercourse  with  Constable,  Sir  George  assumed  the  character 
of  a teacher. 


CHAPTER  VII 

1823 

Illness.  Picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral.”  Sir  John  Leicester’s  Pictures. 
Wilson.  Constable’s  Pictures  at  the  Exhibition.  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller’s  House.  Life  of  Correggio.  The  Rev.  T.  J.  Judkin. 
Sir  William  Curtis.  Visit  to  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Fonthill.  The 
Diorama.  Visit  to  Cole-Orton  Hall.  Adventure  on  the  Road 
Sir  George  and  Lady  Beaumont.  Pictures  at  Cole-Orton.  Manner 
of  passing  the  day  there.  Scenery  of  its  neighbourhood.  Southey. 
Difference  of  opinion  between  Sir  George  and  Constable  on  Art. 
Studies  at  Cole-Orton.  Return  to  London.  Illness.  Pictures 
for  the  Exhibition.  Southey  and  the  Church. 

Constable  was  prevented  by  illness  from  finishing  either  of 
the  large  pictures  he  had  on  hand  in  time  for  the  exhibitions 
of  1823,  and  even  from  writing  again  to  Fisher  until  the  1st  of 
February  in  that  year,  when  he  thus  resumed  their  corre- 
spondence: “ My  very  dear  Fisher,  Ever  since  Christmas  my 
house  has  been  a sad  scene  of  serious  illness;  all  my  children,1 
and  two  of  my  servants  laid  up  at  once.  Things  are  now, 
thanks  to  God,  looking  better,  but  poor  John  is  still  in  a 
fearful  state.  I am  unfortunately  taken  ill  again  myself, 
but  to-day  I am  better,  and  determined  to  write  to  you. 
What  with  anxiety,  watching,  nursing,  and  my  own  indis- 
position, I have  not  seen  the  face  of  my  easel  since  Christmas, 
and  it  is  not  the  least  of  my  troubles  that  the  good  bishop’s 
picture  is  not  fit  to  be  seen;  pray,  my  dear  Fisher,  prepare 
his  lordship  for  this;  it  has  been  no  fault  of  my  own.  Your 
excellent  mother  and  family,  hearing  of  our  distress,  most 
kindly  called  here.  The  sight  of  Mrs.  P.  Fisher  always  does 
one  good;  her  looks  say  we  should  patiently  submit  to  all 
things,  and  this  is  confirmed  in  her  own  conduct,  for  she  can.” 
“ Charlotte  Street,  February  21st.  My  dear  Fisher,  I was 
cheered  by  your  letter  and  kind  inquiries.  I am  now  at  work 
again,  and  some  of  my  children  are  better,  but  my  poor 
darling  boy  John  is  in  a sad  state  indeed;  God  only  knows 
how  it  will  end.  Baillie  and  Gooch  see  him  continually,  and 
are  not  without  hope;  but  I am  worn  with  anxiety.  ...  I 
1 He  had  now  two  sons  and  two  daughters. 

86 


“ Salisbury  Cathedral  ” 87 

am  weak  and  much  emaciated.  They  took  a great  deal  of 
blood  from  me  which  I could  ill  spare.  I have  fretted  for  the 
loss  of  time,  and  being  away  from  my  easel,  but  most  of  all 
for  my  poor  dear  boy;  but  I will  leave  my  house,  and  go  into 
my  painting-room.  I have  put  a large  upright  landscape  in 
hand,  and  I hope  I shall  hold  up  to  get  it  ready  for  the 
Academy,  with  the  Bishop’s  picture. 

“ I am  sorry  to  see  you  again  haunted  by  that  phantom, 
* The  Church  in  danger;  ’ it  does  not  speak  a just  state  of 
mind  or  thinking.  That  the  vultures  will  attack  it,  and 
everything  else  that  is  valuable,  is  likely  enough;  but  you 
say,  1 they  have  failed  on  the  State ; ’ that,  therefore,  still 
stands  between  the  Church  and  them,  for  they  can  only  fall 
together.  The  nobility  know  the  value  of  intellect,  and 
endeavour  to  arm  themselves  from  the  same  sources  as  you 
do,  the  Universities ; and  consider  the  ages  they  have  stood, 
and  the  storms  they  have  weathered.  ...  I look  forward 
to  coming  to  you  at  Gillingham  to  do  something  at  the  mill.” 

“ May  9th.  I had  many  interruptions  in  my  works  for 
the  Exhibition,  as  you  know,  so  that  I have  no  large  canvas 
there.  My  Cathedral  looks  uncommonly  well;  it  is  much 
approved  of  by  the  Academy,  and  moreover  in  Seymour 
Street.  I think  you  will  say  when  you  see  it,  that  I have 

fought  a better  battle  with  the  Church  than  old  H e, 

B m,  and  all  their  coadjutors  put  together.  It  was  the 

most  difficult  subject  in  landscape  I ever  had  on  my  easel. 
I have  not  flinched  at  the  windows,  buttresses,  etc.;  but  I 
have  still  kept  to  my  grand  organ  colour,  and  have,  as  usual, 
made  my  escape  in  the  evanescence  of  the  chiaroscuro.  I 
think  you  will  like  it,  but  you  could  have  done  me  much 
good.  I am  vexed  to  see  the  good  bishop  looking  ill;  it  may 
be  a temporary  cold,  but  he  breaks,  no  doubt.  This  has  been 
a fearful  winter  for  old  and  young.  Callcott  admires  my 
Cathedral ; he  says  I have  managed  it  well.  Wilkie’s  pictures 
are  the  finest  in  the  world.  Perhaps  the  outdoor  scene  is  too 
black.1  Fuseli  came  up  to  him  and  said,  * Veil,  vat  dis?  is 
dis  de  new  vay,  de  Guercino  style?  ’ Speaking  of  me,  he 
says,  * I like  de  landscapes  of  Constable;  he  is  always 
picturesque,  of  a fine  colour,  and  de  lights  always  in  de  right 
places;  but  he  makes  me  call  for  my  greatcoat  and  umbrella.’ 

1 The  “ Parish  Beadle.”  The  other  was  the  small  whole  length 
portrait  of  the  Duke  of  York,  painted  for  Sir  Willoughby  Gordon, 


88  Life  of  Constable 

This  may  amuse  you,  when  contemplating  this  busy  but 
distant  scene;  however,  though  I am  here  in  the  midst  of 
the  world,  I am  out  of  it,  and  am  happy,  and  endeavour  to 
keep  myself  unspotted.  I have  a kingdom  of  my  own,  both 
fertile  and  populous, — my  landscape  and  my  children.  I 
have  work  to  do,  and  my  finances  must  be  repaired  if  possible. 
I have  a face  now  on  my  easel,  and  may  have  more.” 

Speaking  in  this  letter  of  Italy,  Constable  continues,  “ ‘ Oh 
dear,  oh  dear,  I shall  never  let  my  longing  eyes  see  that 
famous  country ! ’ These  are  the  words  of  old  Richardson, 
and  like  him  I am  doomed  never  to  see  the  living  scenes  that 
inspired  the  landscape  of  Wilson  and  Claude.  No,  but  I was 
born  to  paint  a happier  land,  my  own  dear  old  England ; and 
when  I cease  to  love  her,  may  I,  as  Wordsworth  says, 

* never  more  hear 

Her  green  leaves  rustle,  or  her  torrents  roar! 51 

I went  to  the  gallery  of  Sir  John  Leicester,  to  see  the  English 
artists.  I recollect  nothing  so  much  as  a large,  solemn, 
bright,  warm,  fresh  landscape  by  Wilson,  which  still  swims 
in  my  brain  like  a delicious  dream.  Poor  Wilson ! think  of 
his  fate,  think  of  his  magnificence.  But  the  mind  loses  its 
dignity  less  in  adversity  than  in  prosperity.  He  is  now 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  Milton  and  Linnaeus.  He  was  one 
of  those  appointed  to  show  the  world  the  hidden  stores  and 
beauties  of  nature.” 

With  the  picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Bishop’s 
Garden,”  Constable  exhibited,  at  the  Academy,  “ A Study  of 
Trees,  a Sketch,”  and  “A  Cottage;”  and  to  the  British 
Gallery  he  sent  a picture  of  Yarmouth  Jetty. 

“ Gillingham,  Shaftesbury,  May  9th.  My  dear  Constable, 
...  I dined,  yesterday,  at  the  house  built  by  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller,  that  man  of  wigs  and  drapery.  On  the  staircase 
hung  a beautiful  portrait  of  Pope,  by  him.  How  unlike  his 
usual  efforts ! I long  to  hear  how  you  have  succeeded  in  the 
Exhibition.  The  Courier  mentions  you  with  honour.  ‘ Con- 
stable has  some  admirable  studies  of  landscape  scenery.’  . . * 
J.  Fisher.” 

1 “ O England!  dearer  far  than  life  is  dear. 

If  I forget  thy  prowess,  never  more 
Be  thy  ungrateful  son  allowed  to  hear 
Thy  erreen  leaves  rustle,  or  thy  torrents  roar! 

Thanksgiving  Ode  on  the  General  Peace . 


Sir  William  Curtis 


89 

“ Gillingham,  May  18th.  My  dear  Constable,  . . . Coxe 
showed  me  the  proof  sheets  of  his  Life  of  Correggio.  It  is 
really  very  nicely  done.  He  has  got  over  the  critical  part 
better  than  I expected.  But  he  has,  evidently,  not  quite  a 
clear  idea  of  chiaroscuro.  He  has  no  notion  that  harmony 
and  brilliancy  of  effect  are  connected  with  light  and  shade; 
or  that  Correggio’s  great  originality  lay  in  that  department. 
But  still,  his  book  is  well  done.  He  proves,  I think,  very 
satisfactorily,  that  Correggio  did  not  die  in  poverty  or  of  the 
load  of  copper.  He  shows  that  he  had  bought  houses  and 
property  in  the  city  of  Correggio.  And  what  is  more,  gold 
was  the  currency  of  the  country,  and  they  never  paid  in 
copper.  It  would  not  have  been  a legal  tender.  ...  J. 
Fisher.” 

In  a letter  to  Mr.  Fisher,  dated  July  3rd,  after  speaking  of 
some  purchases  which  he  had  made  for  that  gentleman,  one 
of  which  was  a Flemish  picture  of  fruit,  etc.,  Constable  says, 
“ I have  been  for  a day  or  two  at  Southgate,  at  Judkin’s. 
We  dined  with  Sir  William  Curtis;  he  is  a fine  old  fellow, 
and  is  now  sitting  for  his  portrait  to  Lawrence  for  the  king, 

who  desired  it  in  these  words,  * D n you,  my  old  boy,  I’ll 

have  you  in  all  your  canonicals,  and  then  I can  look  at  you 
every  day.’  He  is  a great  favourite, — birds  of  a feather. 
Let  me  know  your  wishes  about  the  picture.” 

“ My  dear  Constable,  Where  real  business  is  to  be  done 
you  are  the  most  energetic  and  punctual  of  men.  In  smaller 
matters,  such  as  putting  on  your  breeches,  you  are  apt  to  lose 
time  in  deciding  which  leg  shall  go  in  first.  I thank  you 
heartily  for  the  speed  with  which  you  have  executed  both 
my  commissions.  I have  never  had  this  picture  out  of  my 
eye  since  I saw  it.  Still-life  is  always  dull,  as  there  are  no 
associations  with  it;  but  this  is  so  deliciously  fresh  that  I 
could  not  resist  it.  If  you  have  one  of  your  coast  windmills 
hanging  on  your  wall  framed,  I wish  you  would  put  it  up  with 
the  fruit-piece.  And  now  with  regard  to  our  meeting,  I am 
unwilling  to  put  off  your  visit  to  the  old  age  of  summer,  when 
all  the  associations  are  those  of  decay;  I will  therefore  work 
hard  at  the  infirmary  sermon,  which  I am  to  preach  at  the 
cathedral  in  September,  and  get  it  finished  by  the  20th  of 
August,  about  which  time  I shall  expect  you,  and  I care  not 
how  long  you  stay.  I have  discovered  three  mills , old, 
small,  and  picturesque,  on  this  river.  I have  a great  desire 


go  Life  of  Constable 

to  possess  your  4 Wain;  ’ but  I cannot  now  reach  what  it  is 
worth,  and  what  you  must  have;  but  I have  this  favour  to 
ask,  that  you  will  not  part  with  it  without  letting  me  know. 
It  will  be  of  the  most  value  to  your  children  by  continuing 
to  hang  where  it  does,  till  you  join  the  society  of  Ruysdael, 
Wilson,  and  Claude.  As  praise  and  money  will  then  be  of 
no  value  to  you,  the  world  will  liberally  bestow  both.  Tinney 
says  his  picture  is  inferior  to  mine.  He  cannot  find  out  that 
mine  hangs  alone,  and  that  his  is  hurt,  as  is  always  the  case, 
by  villainous  company.  J.  Fisher.” 

“ July  ioth.  My  dear  Fisher,  I am  always  pleased  with 
myself  when  I have  pleased  you.  You  have  made  an  ex- 
cellent purchase  of  a most  delightful  work:  it  is  a pearly 
picture,  but  its  tone  is  so  deep  and  mellow  that  it  plays  the 
very  devil  with  my  landscapes ; but  I shall  make  my  account 
of  it,  as  I am  now  working  for  tone.  The  painter  is  C.  de 
Vris,  an  artist  cotemporary  with  Rubens.  De  Heem  painted 
his  excellent  fruit  and  flower  pieces  at  the  same  time,  but 
this  painter’s  works  are  more  scarce,  and  Mr.  Bigg  thinks, 
more  excellent;  I have  stripped  it  of  its  trumpery  border 
which  was  cemented  on  the  surface  of  the  picture,  and  hid 
two  inches  all  round,  to  the  great  injury  of  the  composition. 
It  has  cost  me  some  trouble  to  make  good  the  background, 
but  it  was  well  worth  recovering,  as  the  want  of  an  efficient 
field  crowded  the  composition.  I count  much  on  our  meet- 
ing; it  will  be  my  only  holiday.  The  time  you  speak  of  will 
-do  exactly  for  me.  My  wife  is  amused  with  your  temptation ; 
you  think  4 three  mills  ’ irresistible,  but  it  is  you  I want.  I 
have  a proposal  to  make  to  Tinney;  he  must  let  me  have  his 
picture  and  fifty  or  sixty  guineas,  and  I will  paint  him 
another,  more  for  the  ladies  and  old  hums.  Sir  William 
Curtis  has  a hankering  after  my  4 Wain,’  but  I am  not 
sanguine,  and  you  I should  much  prefer;  we  can  talk  about 
it  when  we  meet;  it  was  bom  a companion  to  your  picture; 
it  must  be  yours.  It  is  no  small  compliment  to  the  picture, 
that  it  haunted  the  mind  of  the  alderman  from  the  time  he 
saw  it  at  the  Institution;  but  though  a man  of  the  world,  he 
is  all  heart,  and  really  loves  nature.1  It  does  me  a great 
deal  of  good  where  it  now  is,  therefore  let  it  remain  for  the 

1 Constable  told  me  of  Sir  William  Curtis,  that  during  an  illness  he 
had  a fine  picture  by  Gainsborough  hung  in  his  chamber  that  he  might 
see  it  through  the  opening  of  his  bed  curtains 


Fonthill 


91 

present.  Should  Tinney  and  I agree,  it  will  enable  me  to 
paint  another  large  picture  for  the  Exhibition;  I am  hurt 

this  year  for  the  want  of  one.  showed  me  a pretty 

picture  he  is  painting,  but  it  is  insipid,  and  far  too  pretty  to 
be  natural.  Sir  George  Beaumont  has  just  left  me;  he  is 
pleased  with  a large  wood  I have  toned.” 1 

“ Charlotte  Street,  August  18th.  My  dear  Fisher,  Astley 
Cooper  often  arrives  an  hour  sooner  than  the  time  fixed  for 
performing  an  operation,  by  which  the  patient  is  spared  the 
anticipation  of  the  approaching  moments ; I had  fixed 
Wednesday,  the  20th,  to  come  to  you,  and  I now  make  it 
Tuesday,  the  19th.  Your  beautiful  fruit-piece  has  left  my 
house,  but  it  will  not  arrive  soon  enough  at  Salisbury  to 
meet  us;  you  will  not  grudge  what  it  has  cost  you;  it  is 
lovely,  and  always  puts  me  not  only  in  good  humour,  but  in 
the  humour  for  painting.  I have  not  the  sea-piece;  I gave 
it  to  Gooch  for  his  kind  attention  to  my  children  for  which 
he  would  receive  no  fee.  Half  an  hour  ago  I received  a 
letter  from  Woodburne  to  purchase  it,  or  one  of  my  sea- 
pieces;  they  are  much  liked,  and  you  have  my  sketch  of 
Osmington.  I have  a great  deal  to  say  which  must  be 
deferred  till  to-morrow.  I leave  my  family  with  great 
pleasure  because  they  are  all  so  well.  My  wife  laughed  much 
at  your  saying,  * But  I don’t  expect  you  to  come.’  I was  at 
the  Countess  of  Dysart’s  fete  champetre  at  Ham  House.  I 
have  pleased  her  by  painting  two  portraits  lately,  and  she  has 
sent  me  half  a buck.” 

“ To  Mrs.  Constable.  Gillingham,  Dorsetshire,  29th 
August.  My  dearest  love.  I was  at  Fonthill  yesterday. 
It  was  very  good-natured  of  Fisher  to  take  me  to  see  that 
extraordinary  place.  The  ticket  to  admit  two  persons  is  a 
guinea,  besides  impositions  afterwards.  Fisher  says,  there 
have  been  great  changes  in  the  articles  since  last  year;  so  that 
it  is  quite  an  auctioneer’s  job.  Many  superb  things  are  now 
not  there,  and  many  others  added ; especially  pictures.  One 
of  the  latter  (or  I am  greatly  mistaken),  a battle  by  Wouver- 

mans,  I saw  at  R ;s  just  before  I left  town.  Yesterday, 

being  a fine  day,  a great  many  people  were  there.  I counted 
more  than  thirty  carriages,  and  the  same  number  of  gigs, 
and  two  stage  coaches ; so  that  in  spite  of  the  guinea  tickets 
there  was  a great  mixture  of  company,  and  indeed  very  few 
1 A large  sketch  of  the  dell  in  Helmingham  Park. 


Life  of  Constable 


92 

genteel  people.  There  was  a large  room  fitted  up  with  boxes 

like  a coffee-house,  for  dinners,  etc.,  etc.  Mr.  ’s  name 

(the  auctioneer’s)  seemed  here  as  great  as  Buonaparte’s. 

Cards  of  various  kinds,  and  boards  were  put  up,  ‘ Mr. 

desires  this, — Mr.  takes  the  liberty  of  recommending 

the  following  inns  for  beds,’  etc.,  etc.  But  I observed  many 
long  faces  coming  away  from  the  said  inns. 

“ I wandered  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower.  Salisbury,  at 
fifteen  miles  off,  darted  up  into  the  sky  like  a needle,  and  the 
woods  and  lakes  were  magnificent;  and  then  the  wild  region 
of  the  downs  to  the  north.  But  the  distant  Dorsetshire 
hills  made  me  long  much  to  be  at  dear  old  Osmington,  the 
remembrance  of  which  must  always  be  precious  to  you  and 
me.  The  entrance  to  Fonthill  and  the  interior  are  beautiful. 
Imagine  Salisbury  Cathedral,  or  indeed,  any  beautiful  Gothic 
building,  magnificently  fitted  up  with  crimson  and  gold, 
ancient  pictures,  and  statues  in  almost  every  niche;  large 
gold  boxes  for  relics,  etc.,  and  looking-glasses,  some  of  which 
spoiled  the  effect.  But  on  the  whole  it  is  a strange,  ideal, 
romantic  place;  quite  fairy-land.  The  spot  is  chosen  in  the 
midst  of  mountains  and  wilds.  We  have  had  such  sad 
weather  that  I have  been  able  to  do  but  little,  but  I have  made 
one  or  two  attacks  on  the  old  mill.” 

“ September  30th.  My  dear  Fisher.  I should  have 
thanked  you  before  now  for  my  delightful  visit;  but  I found 
on  my  return  so  much  occupation  that  my  writing  has  been 
too  long  delayed.  But  I trust  forms  will  weigh  as  little  with 
you  as  with  me,  in  a friendship  which  is  at  once  the  pride,  the 
honour,  and  the  grand  stimulus  of  my  life.  My  Gillingham 
studies  give  great  satisfaction;  Mr.  Bigg  likes  them  better 
than  anything  I have  yet  done.  I found  my  wife  and 
children  all  well;  better  than  I ever  had  them.  I am  now 
pretty  full  handed,  but  my  difficulty  lies  in  what  I am  to  do 
for  the  world  next  year;  I must  have  a large  canvas.  I 
must  write  to  Tinney  about  his  picture,  which  I wish  to  have 

up;  I shall  be  glad  of  it,  frame  and  all.  asked  me  to 

see  his  picture;  it  is  such  art  as  I cannot  talk  about;  heart- 
less, vapid,  without  interest.  I was  at  the  private  view  of 
the  ‘ Diorama;  ’ it  is  in  part  a transparency;  the  spectator 
is  in  a dark  chamber,  and  it  is  very  pleasing,  and  has  great 
illusion.  It  is  without  the  pale  of  the  art,  because  its  object 
is  deception.  The  art  pleases  by  reminding,  not  by  deceiving. 


Cole-Orton  Hall 


93 

The  place  was  filled  with  foreigners,  and  I seemed  to  be  in  a 
cage  of  magpies.” 

“ Salisbury,  October  2nd.  My  dear  Constable,  Tinney 
consents  to  let  his  picture  come  to  London,  but  he  does  it, 
he  confesses,  because  he  can  deny  you  nothing.  He  dreads 

you  touching  it.  L , the  engraver,  says  it  ‘ has  a look 

of  nature  which  seems  diffused  over  the  canvas  as  if  by 
magic,  and  this  Constable  may  in  an  unlucky  moment 
destroy,  and  he  will  never  paint  another  picture  like  it,  for 
he  has  taken  to  repeat  himself.’  I know  not  whether  this 
remark  was  his  own,  or  merely  the  echo  of  what  he  had 
heard  said  by  other  artists;  in  either  case  it  is  right  you 
should  be  told  of  it.  I must  repeat  to  you  an  opinion  I have 
long  held,  that  no  man  had  ever  more  than  one  conception. 
Milton  emptied  his  mind  in  his  first  book  of  Paradise  Lost , 
all  the  rest  is  transcript  of  self.  The  Odyssey  is  a repetition 
of  the  Iliad . When  you  have  seen  one  Claude  you  have  seen 
all.  I can  think  of  no  exception  but  Shakspeare;  he  is 
always  varied,  never  mannered.” 

“ October  19th.  My  dear  Fisher,  Thank  you  for  your 
kind,  amusing,  and  instructive  letter.  I shall  always  be 
glad  to  hear  anything  that  is  said  of  me  and  my  pictures. 

My  object  is  the  improvement  of  both.  L , like  most 

men  living  on  the  outskirts  of  the  art,  and  like  followers  and 
attendants  on  armies,  etc.,  is  a great  talker  of  what  should  he , 
and  this  is  not  always  without  malignity.  Such  persons 
stroll  about  the  foot  of  Parnassus,  only  to  pull  down  by  the 
legs  those  who  are  laboriously  climbing  its  sides.  He  may 
be  sincere  in  what  he  tells  Tinney;  he  wonders  at  what  is 
done,  and  concludes  the  picture  cannot  be  made  better 
because  he  knows  no  better.  I shall  write  to  Tinney  and 
request  the  picture,  but  with  a promise  not  to  meddle  with 
it,  even  if  I see  anything  material  that  would  improve  it, 
without  first  informing  him  of  my  intention. 

“ By  the  time  you  receive  this,  I shall  be  at  breakfast  with 
Sir  George  and  Lady  Beaumont,  at  Cole-Orton  Hall,  Leicester- 
shire, near  Ashby  de  la  Zouch.  I look  to  this  visit  with 
pleasure  and  the  hope  of  improvement.  All  Sir  George’s 
beautiful  pictures  are  there,  and  if  I can  find  time  to  copy 
the  little  Claude,  evidently  a study  from  nature,1  it  will 

1 Now  in  the  National  Gallery.  This  picture  he  mentions  again 
as  “ The  Little  Grove.” 


Life  of  Constable 


94 

much  help  me.  Sir  George  will  not  possess  these  things 
longer  than  until  a room  can  be  got  ready,  at  the  British 
Museum,  to  receive  them.  After  my  delightful  visit  to  you, 
I should  have  been  content.  But  Sir  George  so  much  desired 
to  see  me,  and  is  such  a friend  to  art,  that  I thought  it  a duty 
to  myself  to  go.  . . . I want  to  get  back  to  my  easel  in  town, 
and  not  to  witness  the  rotting,  melancholy  dissolution  of  the 
trees  which  two  months  ago  were  so  beautiful.  I must  talk 
to  you  about  Coxe’s  Life  of  Correggio ; he  has  made  such 
confusion  and  nonsense  about  art,  with  the  letter  of  A. 
Caracci,  and  the  letter  itself  is  so  beautiful.” 

“ To  Mrs.  Constable.  Cole-Orton  Hall,  October  24th. 
My  very  dear  love.  I hasten  to  fulfil  my  promise  of  writing 
to  you  on  my  arrival  here,  though  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Beaumont  wish  me  to  defer  it  to  another  day,  as  he  wants 
me  in  his  painting-room.  ...  0 dear!  this  is  a lovely 

place  indeed,  and  I only  want  you  with  me  to  make  my 
happiness  complete.  Such  grounds,  such  trees,  such  dis- 
tances, and  all  seems  arranged  to  be  seen  from  the  various 
windows  of  the  house.  All  looks  like  fairyland.” 

“ I wish  you  to  write  to  Mrs.  Whalley,  she  will  take  it 
sisterly  and  kind.  Tell  her  what  an  adventure  I had  at 
Leicester,  as  I was  determined  not  to  go  by  without  seeing 
Alicia.1  I did  not  choose  to  dine  at  Northampton,  but 
counted  much  on  tea  at  Leicester.  Just  as  it  was  made,  and 
almost  poured  out,  I ran  to  Miss  Lin  wood’s,  and  found  that 
she  and  all  her  young  ladies  were  at  the  theatre  (about  half- 
past eight).  Thither  I hastened,  saw  Alicia, — shook  hands, 
kissed  her, — she  looked  delightfully, — her  hair  curled  and 
beautifully  parted  on  her  fair  round  forehead, — her  cheeks 
rosy,  owing  to  being  so  surprised, — her  chin  dimpled,  and  her 
teeth  beautifully  white.  Saw  three  strange  figures  on  the 
stage,  who  had  just  ended  a strange  song, — the  audience  were 
all  clapping  their  hands,  and  all  this  took  place  in  half  a 
minute.  Hastened  back  to  the  inn  to  finish  my  tea, — party 
broken  up, — coach  driving  off, — and  myself  nearly  left 
behind.  Will  not  this  amuse  her?  Copy  it,  and  your 
letter  will  be  almost  formed. 

“ Only  think,  I am  now  writing  in  a room  full  of  Claudes 
(not  Glovers,  but  real  Claudes),  Wilsons,  and  Poussins.  But 
I think  of  you  and  am  sad  in  the  midst  of  all.  And  my 
1 Mrs.  Whalley’s  daughter,  who  was  at  school  at  Leicester. 


Cole-Orton  Hall 


95 

ducks, — my  darling  Isabel,  my  Charley  boy,  my  Minna,  and 
my  dear,  dear  John.  J.  C.” 

“ Cole-Orton  Hall,  November  2nd.  My  very  dear  Fisher. 
Your  letter  is  delightful,  and  its  coming  here  serves  to  help 
me  in  the  estimation  of  Sir  George  and  Lady  Beaumont. 
Nothing  can  be  more  kind,  and  in  every  possible  way  more 
obliging  than  they  both  are  to  me.  I am  left  entirely  to  do 
as  I like,  with  full  range  over  the  whole  house,  in  which  I 
may  saturate  myself  with  art;  only  on  condition  of  letting 
them  do  as  they  like.  I have  copied  one  of  the  small  Claudes ; 
a breezy  sunrise,  a most  pathetic  picture.1  Perhaps  a 
sketch  would  have  served  my  present  purpose,  but  I wished 
for  a more  lasting  remembrance  of  it;  and  a sketch  of  a 
picture  is  only  like  seeing  it  in  one  view;  it  will  not  serve 
to  drink  at  again  and  again.  I have  likewise  begun  the 
little  grove  by  Claude;  a noon-day  scene  ‘ which  warms  and 
cheers,  but  which  does  not  inflame  or  irritate.’  Through 
the  depths  of  the  trees  are  seen  a waterfall,  and  a ruined 
temple,  and  a solitary  shepherd  is  piping  to  some  goats  and 
sheep. 

4 In  closing  shades  and  where  the  current  strays, 

Pipes  the  lone  shepherd  to  his  feeding  flocks.’ 

I draw  in  the  evening,  and  Lady,  or  Sir  George  Beaumont 
reads  aloud.  Sir  George  has  known  intimately  many  per- 
sons of  talent  of  the  last  half  century,  and  is  full  of  anecdote. 
This  is  a magnificent  country,  abounding  in  the  picturesque. 
The  bell  is  now  going  for  church.  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Beaumont  never  miss,  morning  and  evening  every  Sunday, 
and  have  family  prayers.  ...  In  the  breakfast  room  hang 
four  Claudes,  a Cozens,  and  a Swaneveldt;  the  sun  glows 
on  them  as  it  sets.  In  the  dark  recesses  of  the  gardens,  and 
at  the  end  of  one  of  the  walks,  is  a cenotaph  erected  to  the 
memory  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  on  it  some  beautiful 
lines  by  Wordsworth.  There  is  a magnificent  view  from 
the  terrace  over  a mountainous  region,  and  there  is  a 
winter  garden,  the  thought  taken  by  Sir  George  from  The 
Spectator .”  2 

1 The  “ Cephalus  and  Procris,”  another  of  Sir  George  Beaumont’s 
valuable  gifts  to  the  National  Gallery. 

8 Wilkie,  who,  in  company  with  Mr.  Haydon,  visited  Cole-Orton 
Hall  in  August,  1809,  thus  describes  the  house  and  its  situation. 
“ Dance,  who  designed  it,  has  acquitted  himself  well.  We  found  it 
most  spacious  and  magnificent.  We  entered  first  through  a large 


Life  of  Constable 


96 

“ To  Mrs.  Constable,  November  2nd.  The  weather  has 
been  bad,  but  I do  not  at  all  regret  being  confined  to  this 
house.  The  mail  did  not  arrive  yesterday  till  many  hours 
after  the  time,  owing  to  some  trees  being  blown  down,  and 
the  waters  out.  ...  I am  now  going  to  breakfast  before 
the  ‘ Narcissus  ’ of  Claude.  How  enchanting  and  lovely  it  is; 
far,  very  far  surpassing  any  other  landscape  I ever  beheld. 
Write  to  me.  Kiss  and  love  my  darlings.  I hope  my  stay 
will  not  exceed  this  week.” 

In  one  of  his  letters  from  Cole-Orton  to  his  wife,  Constable 
says,  “ Sir  George  rises  at  seven,  walks  in  the  garden  before 
breakfast,  and  rides  out  about  two,  fair  or  foul.  We  have 
had  breakfast  at  half-past  eight,  but  to-day  we  began  at 
the  winter  hour,  nine.  We  do  not  quit  the  breakfast-table 
directly,  but  chat  a little  about  the  pictures  in  the  room. 
We  then  go  to  the  painting-room,  and  Sir  George  most 
manfully  sets  to  work,  and  I by  his  side.  At  two  the  horses 
are  brought  to  the  door.  I have  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  ruins  of  Ashby,  the  mountain  stream  and  rocks 
(such  Everdingens)  at  Grace  Dieu,  and  an  old  convent  there, 
Lord  Ferrars’,  a grand,  but  melancholy  spot.  At  dinner  we 
do  not  sit  long;  Lady  Beaumont  reads  the  newspaper  ( The 
Herald)  to  us,  and  then  to  the  drawing-room  to  tea,  and 
after  that  comes  a great  treat;  I am  furnished  with  some 
portfolios  full  of  beautiful  drawings  or  prints,  and  Sir  George 
reads  a play  in  a manner  the  most  delightful.  On  Saturday 
evening  it  was  ‘As  You  Like  It/  and  I never  heard  the 
£ seven  ages  ’ so  admirably  read  before.  Last  evening,  Sun- 
day, he  read  a sermon,  and  a good  deal  of  Wordsworth’s 
‘ Excursion.’  Some  of  the  landscape  descriptions  in  it  are 
very  beautiful.  About  nine,  the  servant  comes  in  with  a 
little  fruit,  and  a decanter  of  water,  and  at  eleven  we  go  to 
bed.  I always  find  a fire  in  my  room,  and  make  out  about 

portico  into  the  lobby  which  leads  into  a splendid  hall  lighted  from 
the  ceiling.  Round  the  hall  is  a suite  of  rooms  fitted  up  in  the  most 
-elegant  manner.  The  rooms  above  are  chiefly  bedrooms,  while  at  the 
top  of  all  is  the  painting  room  of  Sir  George  himself.  . . . The  country 
around  is  picturesque  and  rather  richly  wooded;  and  as  we  have  the 
advantage  of  seeing  it  from  an  eminence,  the  distance  softens  it  to  the 
eye,  and  helps  to  render  it  less  rugged  than  any  other  part  of  the 
country  we  came  through  between  this  and  London.”  Wilkie  also 
speaks  of  a ruined  abbey  in  the  neighbourhood,  rendered  interesting 
by  being  the  birthplace  of  Beaumont  who  wrote  in  conjunction  with 
Fletcher,  and  whose  brother  was  an  ancester  of  Sir  George. 


Cole-Orton  Hall 


97 

an  hour  longer,  as  I have  everything  here,  writing  desk, 
etc.,  and  I grudge  a moment’s  unnecessary  sleep  in  this 
place.  You  would  laugh  to  see  my  bedroom;  I have  dragged 
so  many  things  into  it,  books,  portfolios,  prints,  canvases, 
pictures,  etc.” 

“ November  9th.  How  glad  I was,  my  dear  love,  to  receive 
your  last  kind  letter,  giving  a good  account  of  yourself  and 
our  dear  babies.  . . . Nothing  shall,  I hope,  prevent  my 
seeing  you  this  week;  indeed  I am  quite  nervous  about  my 
absence,  and  shall  soon  begin  to  feel  alarmed  about  the 
exhibition.  ...  I do  not  wonder  at  your  being  jealous  of 
Claude.  If  anything  could  come  between  our  love,  it  is 
him.  I am  fast  advancing  a beautiful  little  copy  of  his  study 
from  nature  of  a little  grove  scene.  If  you,  my  dearest  love, 
will  be  so  good  as  to  make  yourself  happy  without  me  for 
this  week,  it  will,  I hope,  be  long  before  we  part  again. 
But,  believe  me,  I shall  be  the  better  for  this  visit  as  long 
as  I live.  Sir  George  is  never  angry,  or  pettish,  or  peevish, 
and  though  he  loves  painting  so  much,  it  does  not  harass 
him.  You  will  like  me  a great  deal  better  than  you  did. 
To-morrow  Southey  is  coming,  with  his  wife  and  daughter. 
I know  you  would  be  sorry  if  I were  not  to  stay  and  meet 
him,  he  is  such  a friend  of  Gooch’s;  but  the  Claudes,  the 
Claudes,  are  all,  all,  I can  think  of  here.  . . . The  weather 
is  so  bad  that  I can  scarcely  see  out  of  the  window,  but 
Friday  was  lovely.  I shall  hardly  be  able  to  make  you  a 
sketch  of  the  house,  but  I shall  bring  much,  though  in  little 
compass,  to  show  you.  . . . Thursday  was  Sir  George’s 
birthday.  Sixty-nine,  and  married  almost  half  a century. 
The  servants  had  a ball,  and  I was  lulled  to  sleep  by  a 
fiddle.” 

“ November  1 8th.  My  dearest  love,  . . . I was  very  glad 
to  hear  a very  nice  account  of  you  and  my  dear  babies. 

. . . I shall  finish  my  little  Claude  on  Thursday;  and  then 
I shall  have  something  to  do  to  some  of  Sir  George’s  pictures, 
that  will  take  a day  or  two  more,  and  then  home.  ...  I 
sent  you  a hasty  shabby  line  by  Southey,  but  all  that  morn- 
ing I had  been  engaged  on  a little  sketch  in  Miss  Southey’s 
album,  of  this  house,  which  pleased  all  parties  here,  very 
much.  Sir  George  is  loath  to  part  with  me.  He  would  have 
me  pass  Christmas  with  him,  and  has  named  a small  com- 
mission which  he  wished  me  to  execute  here,  but  I have 

G 


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98 

declined  it,  as  I am  so  desirous  to  return.  Sir  George  is 
very  kind,  and  I have  no  doubt,  meant  this  little  picture  to 
pay  my  expenses.  I have  worked  so  hard  in  the  house, 
that  I never  went  out  of  the  door  last  week,  so  that  I am 
getting  quite  nervous.  But  I am  sure  my  visit  here  will 
be  ultimately  of  the  greatest  advantage  to  me;  and  I could 
not  be  better  employed  to  the  advantage  of  all  of  us  by  its 
making  me  so  much  more  of  an  artist.  . . . The  breakfast 
bell  rings.  I now  hasten  to  finish,  as  the  boy  waits.  I really 
think  seeing  the  habits  of  this  house  will  be  of  service  to  me 
as  long  as  I live.  Everything  so  punctual.  Sir  George 
never  looks  into  his  painting-room  on  a Sunday,  nor  trusts 
himself  with  a portfolio.  Never  is  impatient.  Always  rides 
or  walks  for  an  hour  or  two,  at  two  o’clock;  so  will  I with 
you,  if  it  is  only  into  the  square.  I amuse  myself,  every 
evening,  making  sketches  from  Sir  George’s  drawings  about 
Dedham,  etc.  I could  not  carry  all  his  sketch  books.  . . . 
I wish  I had  not  cut  myself  out  so  much  to  do  here, — but  I 
was  greedy  with  the  Claudes.” 

In  his  next  letter  to  his  wife,  Constable  deplores  the 
facility  with  which  he  allowed  his  time  to  be  consumed  by 
loungers  in  his  painting-room,  an  evil  his  good  nature  to 
the  last  entailed  on  him.  Mrs.  Constable  in  one  of  her 

letters  had  said,  “ Mr.  was  here  nearly  an  hour  on 

Saturday,  reading  the  paper,  and  talking  to  himself.  I hope 

you  will  not  admit  him  so  often.  Mr. , another  lounger, 

has  been  here  once  or  twice.” 

“ Cole-Orton  Hall,  November  21st.  My  dearest  love,  I am 
as  heart-sick  as  ever  you  can  be  at  my  long  absence  from 
you,  and  all  our  dear  darlings,  but  which  is  now  fast  draw- 
ing to  a close.  In  fact,  my  greediness  for  pictures  made  me 
cut  out  for  myself  much  more  work  than  I ought  to  have 
undertaken  at  this  time.  One  of  the  Claudes  would  have 
been  all  that  I wanted,  but  I could  not  get  at  that  first,  and 
I had  been  here  a fortnight  before  I began  it.  To-day  it 
will  be  done,  with  perhaps  a little  touch  on  Saturday  morning. 
I have  then  an  old  picture  to  fill  up  some  holes  in.  But  I 
fear  I shall  not  be  able  to  get  away  on  Saturday,  though  I 
hope  nothing  shall  prevent  me  on  Monday.  I can  hardly 
believe  I have  not  seen  you  or  my  Isabel,  or  my  Charley, 
for  five  weeks.  Yesterday  there  was  another  very  high 
wind,  and  such  a splendid  evening  as  I never  before  beheld, 


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99 

at  this  time  of  the  year.  Was  it  so  with  you?  But  in 
London  nothing  is  to  be  seen,  worth  seeing,  in  the  natural 
way. 

“ I certainly  will  not  allow  of  such  serious  interruptions  as 
I used  to  do,  from  people  who  devour  my  time,  brains,  and 
everything  else.  Sir  George  says  it  is  quite  serious  and 
alarming.  Let  me  have  a letter  on  Sunday,  my  last  day 
here,  as  I want  to  be  made  comfortable  on  my  journey, 
which  will  be  long  and  tiresome,  and  I shall  be  very  nervous 
as  I get  near  home;  therefore,  pray  let  me  have  a good 
account  of  you  all.  I believe  some  great  folks  are  coming 
here  in  December,  which  Sir  George  dreads,  as  they  so  much 
interfere  with  his  painting  habits;  for  no  artist  can  be  fonder 
of  the  art.” 

“ November  25th.  My  very  dearest  love,  I hope  nothing 
will  prevent  my  leaving  this  place  to-morrow  afternoon,  and 
that  I shall  have  you  in  my  arms  on  Thursday  morning,  and 
my  babies ; 0 dear ! how  glad  I shall  be.  I feel  that  I have 
been  at  school , and  can  only  hope  that  my  long  absence  from 
you  may  ultimately  be  to  my  great  and  lasting  improvement 
as  an  artist,  and  indeed,  in  everything.  If  you  have  any 
friends  staying  with  you,  I beg  you  will  dismiss  them  before 
my  arrival.” 

Though  Sir  George  Beaumont  and  Constable  agreed, 
generally,  in  their  opinions  of  the  old  masters,  yet  their 
tastes  differed  materially  on  some  points  of  art,  and  their 
discourse  never  languished  for  want  of  “ an  animated  no.” 
A constant  communion  with  pictures,  the  tints  of  which  are 
subdued  by  time,  no  doubt  tends  to  unfit  the  eye  for  the 
enjoyment  of  freshness;  and  Sir  George  thought  Constable 
too  daring  in  the  modes  he  adopted  to  obtain  this  quality; 
while  Constable  saw  that  Sir  George  often  allowed  himself 
to  be  deceived  by  the  effects  of  time,  of  accident,  and  by 
the  tricks  that  are,  far  oftener  than  is  generally  supposed, 
played  by  dealers,  to  give  mellowness  to  pictures;  and,  in 
these  matters,  each  was  disposed  to  set  the  other  right.  Sir 
George  had  placed  a small  landscape  by  Gaspar  Poussin  on 
his  easel,  close  to  a picture  he  was  painting,  and  said,  “ Now, 
if  I can  match  these  tints  I am  sure  to  be  right.”  “ But 
suppose,  Sir  George,”  replied  Constable,  “ Gaspar  could  rise 
from  his  grave,  do  you  think  he  would  know  his  own  picture 
in  its  present  state  ? or  if  he  did,  should  we  not  find  it  difh- 


IOO 


Life  of  Constable 


cult  to  persuade  him  that  somebody  had  not  smeared  tar 
or  cart  grease  over  its  surface,  and  then  wiped  it  imperfectly 
off  ? ” At  another  time,  Sir  George  recommended  the  colour 
of  an  old  Cremona  fiddle  for  the  prevailing  tone  of  every- 
thing, and  this  Constable  answered  by  laying  an  old  fiddle  on 
the  green  lawn  before  the  house.  Again,  Sir  George,  who 
seemed  to  consider  the  autumnal  tints  necessary,  at  least  to 
some  part  of  a landscape,  said,  “ Do  you  not  find  it  very 
difficult  to  determine  where  to  place  your  brown  tree  ? ” 
And  the  reply  was,  “ Not  in  the  least,  for  I never  put  such  a 
thing  into  a picture.”  But  however  opposite  in  these  re- 
spects their  opinions  were,  and  although  Constable  well  knew 
that  Sir  George  did  not  appreciate  his  works, — the  intelli- 
gence, the  wit,  and  the  fascinating  and  amiable  manner  of 
the  Baronet  had  gained  his  heart,  and  a sincere  and  lasting 
friendship  subsisted  between  them. 

During  his  visit  to  Cole-Orton,  besides  his  admirable 
copies  of  the  Claudes,  he  made  a sketch  from  a landscape 
by  Rubens,  a large  sketch  of  the  front  of  the  house,  and  a 
drawing  of  the  cenotaph  erected  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Constable  had  never  been,  nor  was  he  ever  again,  so  long 
separated  from  his  wife  and  children,  as  on  this  occasion; 
and  his  anxiety  to  return,  and  at  the  same  time,  his  wish  to 
complete  the  copies  he  undertook  at  Cole-Orton,  confined 
him  so  much  to  his  easel  that  the  visit  proved  an  injury 
instead  of  a benefit  to  his  health. 

“ Salisbury,  December  12th.  My  dear  Constable,  ...  I 
know  not  how  to  advise  you  for  the  exhibition.  ‘ The  Water- 
loo ’ depends  entirely  on  the  polish  and  finish  given  to  it. 
If  I were  the  painter  of  it,  I would  always  have  it  on  my 
easel,  and  work  at  it  for  five  years,  a touch  a day. 

“ The  great  storm  played  destruction  at  Gillingham.  It 
blew  down  two  of  my  great  elms,  bent  another  to  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees  with  the  ground,  and  stripped  a third 
of  all  its  branches,  leaving  only  one  standing  entire.  This  I 
have  taken  down,  and  your  wood  exists  only  in  your  sketches. 
The  great  elm  in  the  middle  of  the  turf  is  spared. 

“ Southey  is  a friend  of  the  establishment:  but  in  one 
point  I think  him  (with  diffidence)  wrong.  He  would  adopt 
the  Methodist  preacher  into  the  church  as  an  inferior  servant. 
This  was  the  very  cause  of  the  corruptions  and  downfall  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  establishment.  For  the  sake  of  peace 


IOI 


Southey  and  the  Church 

and  unity  they  adopted  enthusiasts,  received  their  errors 
into  the  creeds  of  the  church,  and  then  had  to  defend  them. 
You  cannot  make  use  of  the  men  without  receiving  their 
opinions. 

“ Varley  is  here  teaching  drawing  to  the  young  ladies. 

‘ Principles ,’  he  says,  ‘ are  the  thing.  The  warm  grey , the 
cold  grey , and  the  round  touch?  John  Fisher.” 

“ December  18th.  My  dear  Fisher.  Your  kind  and  wel- 
come letter,  as  usual,  breathes  nothing  but  good  humour, 
friendship,  and  understanding.  I wanted  just  such  a one; 
as  almost,  from  the  time  of  my  return,  I have  been  laid 
up  and  am  quite  disabled  by  pains  in  the  bones  of  my  head 
and  face,  probably  originating  in  the  teeth.  It  began  at 
Gillingham.  However,  they  have  condemned  one  this 
morning,  who  though  not  the  principal,  was  still  an  acces- 
sory before  the  fact.  Perhaps  I may  look  for  some  ease,  but 
I have  lived  on  suction  for  the  last  fortnight.  ...  I shall 
now  turn  to  your  letter  to  see  what  requires  noticing. 

“ First.  I am  settled  for  the  exhibition.  My  ‘ Waterloo  ’ 
must  be  done,  and  one  other;  perhaps  one  of  Tinney’s, 
4 Dedham,’  but  more  probably  my  ‘ Lock.’  I must  visit 
Gillingham  again  for  a subject  for  the  other  next  summer. 

“ Second.  How  much  I regret  the  grove  at  the  bottom  of 
your  garden.  This  has  really  vexed  me.  I had  promised 
myself  passing  the  summer  hours  in  its  shade. 

“ Third.  I am  glad  the  great  elm  is  safe. 

“ Fourth.  What  you  say  of  Southey  is  wise,  just,  moder- 
ate, and  undeniable.  Though  he  can  say  much,  he  cannot 
gainsay  that  short  sentence  of  yours.  It  marks  you  master 
of  your  own  profession;  and  every  hour’s  experience  proves 
to  me  that  no  man,  not  educated,  from  his  early  youth,  to 
a profession,  can  fully  and  justly  enter  into  it.” 


CHAPTER  VIII 
1824 

Letter  from  Sir  George  Beaumont.  Picture  of  “ The  Opening  of  Water- 
loo Bridge.”  Lady  Paintress.  Sale  of  two  large  Pictures  to  a 
Frenchman.  Picture  of  a “ Lock  on  the  Stour.”  Description  of 
Brighton.  Mr.  Phillips.  J.  Dunthorne,  Jun.  Venetian  Secret 
discovered  by  a Lady.  Mr.  Ottley.  Washington  Irving.  Note 
from  Mr.  Brockedon.  Archibald  Constable.  French  Criticisms 
on  Constable’s  Pictures. 

“To  John  Constable,  Esq.  Dear  Sir,  I am  very  sorry  to 
hear  you  have  been  so  unwell  since  your  visit  to  Cole-Orton, 
and  am  afraid  it  arose  from  too  intense  application.  You 
must  do  me  the  justice  to  tell  Mrs.  Constable,  that  I never 
failed  daily  proposing  riding  or  walking.  I am  quite  sure 
artists  save  time  in  the  end,  by  allowing  the  necessary 
interruptions  for  air  and  exercise.  However,  now  it  is  over, 
I hope  it  will  be  a warning,  and  in  the  meantime,  I must  say 
your  time  was  not  passed  unprofitably,  and  your  industry 
has  acquainted  you  with  many  of  the  arcana  of  Claude’s 
mysterious  and  magical  practice.  I thank  you  for  the 
trouble  you  have  taken  in  sending  my  colours,  etc.,  and 
finally,  wish  you  success  in  the  application  of  the  result  of 
your  studies.  I hope  you  feel  no  remains  of  your  illness, 
and  will  go  on  merrily  with  your  preparations  for  Somerset 
House;  but  remember,  air  and  exercise,  or  you  may  be 
interrupted.  At  all  events,  it  must  injure  you  in  the  long 
run,  for  I am  convinced  that  many  artists  bring  on  various 
complaints,  and  shorten  their  lives  from  inattention  to  this 
point.  It  does  not  surprise  me  to  hear  that  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  has  delivered  an  excellent  discourse,  and  it  adds 
to  my  pleasure  to  hear  that  it  is  to  be  printed,  and  also  that 
with  his  usual  liberality  of  feeling  and  good  taste,  he  has 
spoken  in  high  terms  of  Mr.  West.  I beg  my  compliments 
to  Mrs.  Constable,  and  request  her  to  inform  you  from  me, 
with  her  influence  superadded,  that  unless  you  take  more 
air  and  exercise,  you  will  never  reach  my  age.  I remain, 
my  dear  sir,  with  every  good  wish,  truly  yours,  G.  Beaumont. 

102 


“ Waterloo  Bridge  ” 103 

Cole-Orton  Hall,  January  6th,  1824.  How  are  your  copies 
approved?  ” 

Whatever  good  effects  Sir  George’s  advice  may  have 
produced,  were  not  lasting,  for  Constable  never  adhered  to 
any  plan  of  regular  exercise.  In  town,  he  was  often  obliged 
to  quit  his  easel;  but  even  when  called  out,  so  constantly 
was  his  attention  drawn  to  passing  objects,  that  he  loitered 
rather  than  walked,  and  his  pace  could  scarcely  be  quickened 
into  exercise,  unless  he  was  late  for  some  appointment. 

A letter  to  Constable  from  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  dated 
January  6th,  enclosing  a draft,  concludes  thus,  “ Our  new 
year  opens  under  many  pleasing  circumstances;  fine  weather, 
returning  plenty,  public  quiet,  and  the  appearance  of  general 
peace.  May  you  and  yours  have  many  happy  returns  of 
such  a year.” 

“ January  17th.  My  dear  Fisher,  The  Frenchman  who 
was  after  my  large  picture  of  ‘ The  Hay  Cart  ’ last  year,  is 
here  again.  He  would,  I believe,  have  both  that  and  * The 
Bridge,’  if  he  could  get  them  at  his  own  price.  I showed 
him  your  letter,  and  told  him  of  my  promise  to  you.  His 
object  is  to  make  a show  of  them  at  Paris,  perhaps  to  my 
advantage.  I should  like  to  advise  with  you  about  the  large 
‘ Waterloo;  ’ it  is  a work  that  should  not  be  hurried.  I am 
engaged  on  my  upright  * Lock,’  and  I hope,  one  of  Tinney’s 
new  ones.  I only  want  to  work  harder  to  be  comfortable. 
My  success  in  life  seems  pretty  certain,  but  no  man  can  get 
much  by  study,  and  the  labour  of  his  own  hands.” 

“ January  18th.  My  dear  Constable.  Thurtell  said,1 — 
but,  perhaps,  you  are  as  sick  of  his  name  as  you  were  of  the 
queen’s,  so  we  will  change  the  subject.  . . . Let  your  ‘ Hay 
Cart  ’ go  to'Paris  by  all  means.  I am  too  much  pulled  down 
by  the  agricultural  distress  to  hope  to  possess  it.  I would, 
I think,  let  it  go  at  less  than  its  price  for  the  sake  of  the 
eclat  it  may  give  you.  The  stupid  English  public,  which 
has  no  judgment  of  its  own,  will  begin  to  think  there  is 
something  in  you  if  the  French  make  your  works  national 
property.  You  have  long  lain  under  a mistake;  men  do 
not  purchase  pictures  because  they  admire  them,  but  because 
others  covet  them.  . . . 

*'  Did  you  know  the  fact  in  natural  history  that  rooks 

1 This  is  a humorous  hit  at  the  importance  attached  to  everything 
said  or  done  by  a convicted  murderer. 


Life  of  Constable 


104 

prefer  to  build  in  elm  trees  before  all  others,  and  that  they 
seldom  or  never  frequent  chesnuts?  When  we  were  felling 
our  elms  at  Gillingham,  some  rooks  flew  over  and  were 
clamorous.  Whether  deprecating  our  work  of  destruction 
or  not,  I cannot  tell. 

“ In  the  new  novel  attributed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  (St. 
Ronan’s  Well,)  is  the  following  passage.  ‘ There  are  very 
well  bred  artists,  said  Lady  Penelope,  it  is  the  profession  of 
a gentleman.’ — ‘ Certainly,  answered  Lady  Binks;  but  the 
poorer  class  have  often  to  struggle  with  poverty  and  depen- 
dence. In  general  society,  they  are  like  commercial  people 
in  presence  of  their  customers;  and  that  is  a difficult  part  to 
sustain.  And  so  you  see  them  of  all  sorts — shy  and  reserved, 
when  they  are  conscious  of  merit — petulant  and  whimsical, 
by  way  of  showing  their  independence — intrusive  in  order  to 
appear  easy — and  sometimes  obsequious  and  fawning,  when 
they  chance  to  be  of  a mean  spirit.’  Are  either  you  or 
acquainted  with  Sir  Walter  Scott? 

“I  am  shut  up  in  lodgings  here, — the  walls  covered  with 
old  masters.  I suffer  like  the  martyrs  of  old,  who  had  their 
eyes  put  out  with  hot  brazen  basins,  held  before  their  faces. 
But  I am  relieved  by  one  picture  which  I guess  to  be  a 
genuine  Vanderhayden.  Is  not  that  the  name  of  the  man 
who  painted  brick  buildings  so  minutely?  It  is  very  true 
and  delicate,  and  with  pretty  light  and  shadow,  but  the  sky 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  touched  up.  J.  Fisher.” 

“ January  22nd.  My  dear  Fisher,  ...  I have  done  the 
little  ‘ Waterloo,’  a small  balloon  to  let  off  as  a forerunner  of 
the  large  one.  ...” 

Mr.  Fisher  in  a letter  dated  “ Weymouth,  February 
12  th,”  says,  “ I beg  to  congratulate  you  on  the  appearance 
of  your  name  in  the  newspapers.  Do  not  despise  them  too 
much.  They  cannot  give  fame,  but  they  attend  on  her. 
Smoke  gives  notice  that  the  house  is  on  fire.  I shall  be  in 
town  Wednesday  or  Thursday  next.” 

“ April  15th.  My  dear  Fisher,  I have  been  for  some 
time  desirous  of  writing  to  you,  but  I was  never  more  fully 
bent  on  any  picture  than  that  on  which  you  left  me  engaged. 
It  is  gone  to  its  audit,  and  my  friends  tell  me  it  is  my  best; 
it  is  a good  subject,  and  an  admirable  instance  of  the  pic- 
turesque. I hear  there  are  some  fine  pictures  this  year  at 
the  Academy,  from  some  of  the  old,  as  well  as  some  of  the  new 


A Lady  Paintress  105 

Academicians.  On  Saturday  I shall  go  for  a few  days  into 
Suffolk;  I wish  to  see  what  they  are  about,  and  Lady  Dysart 
wants  me  to  look  at  the  woods  which  she  has  given  into 
the  care  of  my  brother,  that  I may  bring  a report  to  her, 
as  he  cannot  leave  them.  I have  had  the  Frenchman  again 
with  me;  we  have  agreed  as  to  price,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  the  pair,  and  I give  him  a small  picture  of  ‘ Yarmouth  ’ 
into  the  bargain.” 

“ I dined  the  other  day  with  , to  be  introduced 

to  a lady  paintress,  ‘ with  whom  I should  be  much  pleased.’ 
I found  a laughing,  ignorant,  fat,  uncouth  old  woman;  but 
very  good-natured;  and  she  gave  me  no  trouble,  as  she 
wanted  no  instruction  from  me.  When  she  told  me  of  an 
oil  proper  for  painting,  I told  her  it  would  not  do,  but  she 
assured  me  it  would,  and  that  she  could  give  me  no  greater 
proof  of  it,  than  that  one  of  her  pictures  was  painted  entirely 
with  it.” 

Constable  exhibited  but  one  picture  this  year.  “ A Boat 
passing  a Lock.” — The  scene  of  this  subject  is  close  to  Flat- 
ford  Mill,  and  was  often  painted  by  him  from  different 
points  of  view.  An  early  picture  of  it,  in  which  the  lock  is 
on  the  right  of  the  foreground,  forms  one  of  the  most 
complete  subjects  of  the  English  Landscape.  The  little 
wooden  bridge,  a principal  feature  in  the  engraving  entitled 
the  “ River  Stour,  Suffolk,”  is  here  introduced  at  a greater 
distance,  with  the  whole  of  the  picturesque  cottage  near  it. 

“ May  8th.  Dear  Fisher,  I have  just  deposited  my  picture 
in  its  place,  and  opposite,  and  as  a companion  to  one  by 

Mrs.  -1  To  what  honours  are  some  men  born!  My 

Frenchman  has  sent  his  agent  with  the  money  for  the  pic- 
tures; they  are  now  ready,  and  look  uncommonly  well, 
and  I think  they  cannot  fail  to  melt  the  stony  hearts  of  the 
French  painters.  Think  of  the  lovely  valleys  and  peaceful 
farm-houses  of  Suffolk  forming  part  of  an  exhibition  to 
amuse  the  gay  Parisians.  My  * Lock 5 is  liked  at  the  Academy, 
and  indeed  it  forms  a decided  feature,  and  its  light  cannot 
be  put  out,  because  it  is  the  light  of  nature,  the  mother  of 
all  that  is  valuable  in  poetry,  painting,  or  anything  else 
where  an  appeal  to  the  soul  is  required.  The  language 
of  the  heart  is  the  only  one  that  is  universal;  and  Sterne 
says,  he  disregards  all  rules,  but  makes  his  way  to  the  heart 
1 The  lady  described  in  the  last  letter. 


106  Life  of  Constable 

as  he  can.  But  my  execution  annoys  most  of  them,  and 
all  the  scholastic  ones.  Perhaps  the  sacrifices  I make  for 
lightness  and  brightness  are  too  great,  but  these  things  are 
the  essence  of  landscape,  and  my  extreme  is  better  than 
white-lead  and  oil,  and  dado  painting.  I sold  this  picture  on 
the  day  of  the  opening  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  guineas, 
including  the  frame,  to  Mr.  Morrison.  I do  hope  my  exer- 
tions may  tend  towards  popularity;  but  it  is  you  who  have 
so  long  held  my  head  above  water.  Although  a good  deal  of 
the  devil  is  in  me,  I do  think  I should  have  been  broken- 
hearted before  this  time  but  for  you.  Indeed,  it  is  worth 
while  to  have  gone  through  all  I have  for  the  hours  and 
thoughts  we  have  had  together.  I am  in  high  favour  with 
all  the  Seymour  Street  family,  and  I look  continually  back 
to  the  great  kindness  shown  to  me  in  my  early  days,  when  it 
was  truly  of  value  to  me;  for  long  I tottered  on  the  threshold, 
and  floundered  in  the  path,  and  there  never  was  any  young 
man  nearer  being  lost;  but  here  I am,  and  I must  now  take 
heed  where  I stand.” 

“ Gillingham,  May  ioth.  My  dear  Constable.  I admire 
your  lion-like  generosity  in  passing  over  my  long  silence 
without  vituperation.  I am  glad  you  did  not  ask  me  for  a 
reason,  for  I can  assign  none,  except  that  I was  always  think- 
ing of  you,  daily  intending  to  write,  and  daily  neglecting  to 
put  my  intention  into  execution.  Your  last  letter  is  evi- 
dently written  in  a tone  of  great  exultation,  and  with  reason. 
Your  fame  and  fortune  are  both  advanced;  and  for  both  you 
are  indebted  but  to  Providence  and  your  own  exertions.  I 
am  not  surprised  that  ‘ The  Navigator  ’ sold  on  a first 
inspection;  for  it  was  one  of  your  best  pictures.  The 
purchase  of  your  two  great  landscapes  for  Paris,  is  surely 
a stride  up  three  or  four  steps  of  the  ladder  of  popularity. 
English  boobies,  who  dare  not  trust  their  own  eyes,  will 
discover  your  merits  when  they  find  you  admired  at  Paris. 
We  now  must  go  there  for  a week.  ...  I generally  leave  you 
wiser  than  I came  to  you,  and  some  of  your  pithy  apothegms 
stick  to  my  memory  like  a thorn,  and  give  me  a prick  when  I 
fall  a dozing.  ‘ A man  is  always  growing,’  you  said,  * either 
upwards  or  downwards.’  I have  been  trying  to  grow  4 up- 
wards ’ since  we  parted.  When  I consulted  you  about  the 
Lancastrian  Sunday  School  in  my  parish,  you  advised  me  to 
* be  quiet  and  do  all  the  good  I could.’  I took  your  advice, 


Brighton  1 07 

and  the  quakers  have,  unsolicited,  dropped  the  offensive 
rules.  J.  Fisher.” 

“Gillingham,  May  nth.  My  dear  Constable.  . . . 
They  have  had  one  or  two  smart  brushes  at  the  Church 
in  Parliament,  but  have  been  triumphantly  defeated.  One 
member  said,  ‘ If  half  the  industry  had  been  used  to  bring 
to  light  the  good  done  by  the  clergy,  which  has  been  used 
to  malign  them,  the  Church  would  need  no  defender.’  How- 
ever, I am  indifferent  to  such  attacks.  I am  at  my  post,  and 
intend  to  be  found  at  it,  happen  what  will.  The  people 
of  this  place  are  given  to  my  charge,  and  I will  discharge 
the  duty,  with  or  without  the  tithes.  What  has  become 
of  ‘Waterloo?’  I am  ready  to  receive  you  at  Salisbury 
at  any  moment.  Will  you  go  with  me  on  my  visitation? 
J.  Fisher.” 

“ My  dear  Fisher,  I have  counted  on  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Berkshire  again  with  you,  but  that  is  not  possible  this  year; 
I have  just  now  engaged  to  get  seven  pictures  of  a small 
size  ready  for  Paris  by  August.  The  large  ones  are  to 
be  exhibited  at  the  Louvre,  and  my  purchasers  say  they  are 
much  looked  for  at  Paris.  The  director  of  the  Academy 
at  Antwerp,  Mr.  Vanbree,  has  been  here;  he  says  they  will 
make  an  impression  on  the  Continent.  . . . The  world  is 
rid  of  Lord  Byron,  but  the  deadly  slime  of  his  touch  still 
remains.” 

“ Brighton,  May  29th.  The  dignitary  of  the  Church 
seems  to  have  forgotten  the  dignitary  of  the  easel.  ...  I 
am  busy  here,  but  I dislike  the  place,  and  miss  any  letter 
from  you.  I am,  however,  getting  on  with  my  French 
affairs;  one  of  the  largest  is  quite  complete,  and  is  my  best 
in  sparkle  with  repose,  which  is  my  struggle  just  now. 
Brighton  is  the  receptacle  of  the  fashion  and  off-scouring 
of  London.  The  magnificence  of  the  sea,  and  its,  to  use 
your  own  beautiful  expression,  ‘ everlasting  voice,’  is  drowned 
in  the  din  and  tumult  of  stage  coaches,  gigs,  flys,  etc.,  and  the 
beach  is  only  Piccadilly  or  worse  by  the  seaside.  Ladies 
dressed  and  undressed;  gentlemen  in  morning-gowns  and 
slippers,  or  without  them  or  anything  else,  about  knee  deep 
in  the  breakers;  footmen,  children,  nursery-maids,  dogs, 
boys,  fishermen,  and  Preventive  Service  men  with  hangers 
and  pistols;  rotten  fish,  and  those  hideous  amphibious 
animals,  the  old  bathing-women,  whose  language,  both  in 


108  Life  of  Constable 

oaths  and  voice,  resembles  men,  all  mixed  together  in  endless 
and  indecent  confusion.  The  genteeler  part,  or  Marine 
Parade,  is  still  more  unnatural,  with  its  trimmed  and  neat 
appearance,  and  the  dandy  jetty  or  Chain  Pier,  with  its 
long  and  elegant  strides  into  the  sea  a full  quarter  of  a mile.” 
(Here  the  writing  is  interrupted  by  a sketch.)  “ In  short, 
there  is  nothing  here  for  a painter  but  the  breakers  and  the 
sky,  which  have  been  lovely  indeed,  and  always  varying.1 
The  fishing-boats  here  are  not  so  picturesque  as  the  Hastings 
boats;  the  difference  is  this.”  (Here  a sketch.)  “ But 
these  subjects  are  so  hacknied  in  the  Exhibition,  and  are 
indeed  so  little  capable  of  the  beautiful  sentiment  that 
belongs  to  landscape,  that  they  have  done  a great  deal  of 
harm.  They  form  a class  of  art  much  easier  than  landscape, 
and  have,  in  consequence,  almost  supplanted  it.  While  in 
the  fields,  for  I am  at  the  west  of  this  city,  and  quite  out 
of  it,  I met  with  a most  intelligent  and  elegant-minded  man, 
Mr.  Phillips.  We  became  intimate,  and  he  contributes 
much  to  our  pleasure  here.  He  is  a botanist,  and  all  his  works 
on  Natural  History  are  instructive  and  entertaining,  calcu- 
lated for  children  of  all  ages;  his  History  of  Trees  is  delightful. 
We  are  at  No.  9,  Mrs.  Sober’s  Gardens,  so  called  from  Mrs. 
Sober,  the  lady  of  the  manor;  she  has  built  a chapel;  and 
a man  who  was  taken  before  the  magistrates  quite  drunk, 
when  asked  what  he  was,  said  he  was  ‘ one  of  Mrs.  Sober’s 
congregation.’  Last  Tuesday,  the  finest  day  that  ever  was, 
we  went  to  the  Dyke,  which  is,  in  fact,  the  remains  of  a 
Roman  encampment,  overlooking  one  of  the  grandest 
natural  landscapes  in  the  world,  and  consequently  a scene 
the  most  unfit  for  a picture.  It  is  the  business  of  a painter 
not  to  contend  with  nature,  and  put  such  a scene,  a valley 
filled  with  imagery  fifty  miles  long,  on  a canvas  of  a few 
inches ; but  to  make  something  out  of  nothing,  in  attempting 
which,  he  must  almost  of  necessity  become  poetical;  but 
you  understand  all  this  better  than  I.  My  wife  and  children 
are  delightfully  well.” 

In  June,  Constable  returned  to  London  with  young 
Dunthorne,  leaving  his  family  at  Brighton.  While  in  town, 


1 On  the  back  of  one  of  Constable’s  oil  sketches  made  in  the  summer 
of  this  year  at  the  west  end  of  Brighton,  is  written,  “ The  neighbour- 
hood of  Brighton  consists  of  London  cow-fields,  and  hideous  masses 
of  unfledged  earth  called  the  country.” 


His  Diary  109 

he  kept  a diary,  which  he  sent  at  intervals  to  Mrs.  Constable, 
and  from  which  the  following  are  a few  extracts:  “ Wednes- 
day, June  1 6th.  ...  A French  gentleman  and  his  wife 
called;  they  were  much  pleased,  could  talk  a little  English, 
and  we  got  on  very  well.  He  ordered  a little  picture,  and 
wished  to  know  if  I would  receive  any  commissions  from 
Paris,  where  he  said  I was  much  known  and  esteemed,  and 
if  I would  go  there,  the  artists  would  receive  me  with  great 
eclat.  He  was  delighted  with  Tinney’s  picture,  which  now 
looks  very  beautiful  on  the  easel;  it  is  of  service  to  me  to 
have  so  good  a work  to  show.  Jackson  told  me  that  Lord 
Fitzwilliam  would  certainly  have  bought  my  picture,  if  it 
had  not  been  sold  to  Mr.  Morrison.  Fisher  called  and  dined. 
Leslie  called  to  ask  me  to  pass  the  evening  with  him.  He 
staid  to  tea.  Fisher  and  Leslie  had  a good  deal  of  talk  about 
Washington  Irving.  A new  book  of  his  just  out.  Fisher 
is  quite  pleased  with  Irving.” 

“ June  2 1 st.  . . . Collins  called;  he  says  I am  a great 
man  at  Paris,  and  that  it  is  curious  they  speak  there  of  only 
three  English  artists,  namely  Wilkie,  Lawrence,  and  Con- 
stable. This  sounds  very  grand.  He  was  quite  struck  with 
the  look  of  Tinney’s  picture.  He  hopes  it  will  go  to  the 
Gallery.” 

“ June  22nd.  . . . Had  a letter  from  Paris.  Mr.  Arrow- 
smith  informed  me  of  the  safe  arrival  of  my  pictures,  and 
how  much  they  were  admired;  he  talks  of  coming  again 
the  end  of  next  month;  I shall  be  ready  for  him;  his  letter 
is  flattering,  but  I have  no  wish  to  go  to  Paris.” 

“ June  24th.  called.  He  did  not  want  to  see  me, 

but  had  something  to  say  to  a man  he  had  with  him,  and 
if  I would  give  him  leave,  would  take  him  into  the  parlour. 
— He  easily  makes  himself  at  home.” 

“ June  25th.  After  breakfast  called  on  the  bishop  by  his 
wish.  He  had  to  tell  me  that  he  thought  of  my  improving 
the  picture  of  the  Cathedral,  and  mentioned  many  things. — 
4 He  hoped  I would  not  take  his  observations  amiss.’  I said, 
‘ Quite  the  contrary,  as  his  lordship  had  been  my  kind 
monitor  for  twenty-five  years.’  I am  to  have  it  home 
to-morrow.  He  says  I must  visit  the  colonel,1  at  Charleton, 
this  or  next  month,  for  a day  or  two.  I do  not  wish  it,  as  I 
begin  to  be  tired  of  going  to  school.  The  good  bishop  had 
1 A relation  of  the  bishop,  an  amateur  landscape  painter. 


I IO 


Life  of  Constable 


been  at  Dedham,  and  found  the  wretched  ’s  all  at 

daggers  drawn.  He  reconciled  them,  and  insisted  on  their 
shaking  hands,  which  they  did.  Mr.  Neave  called  this 
evening  about  five.  He  is  always  the  most  agreeable  person 
in  the  world.  He  was  quite  astonished  at  the  picture  on  the 
easel  (Tinney’s)  and  hoped  I would  always  keep  to  the 
picturesque,  and  those  scenes  in  which  I am  * so  entirely 
original.5  Mrs.  Hand  tells  me  that  Owen  always  speaks  so 
very  highly  of  me,  in  every  way,  that  it  is  quite  delightful.55 

“ June  28th.  F.  Collins  called  to  ask  me  to  a party;  but 
Sir  George  Beaumont  had  sent  me  tickets  for  the  British 
Institution  this  evening,  and  I thought  it  would  be  a treat 
to  Johnny  Dunthome  to  see  so  many  fine  ladies.55 

“ June  30th.  Sir  George  Beaumont  called  to  know  if  I 
would  undertake  a singular  commission.  There  is  a lady 
who  has  devoted  herself  to  the  discovery  of  what  is  called 
the  Venetian  secret  of  colouring.  She  has  been  at  it  these 
twenty  years,  and  has  at  length  written  to  the  Secretary  of 
State  to  desire  proper  trials  may  be  made  of  it  by  some 
eminent  artists.  Sir  George  asked  me  to  try  it,  saying  I 
should  be  paid  for  my  time,  etc.,  and  thinking  that  as  the 
lady  is  now  at  Brighton,  it  might  not  be  inconvenient  to  me. 
I shall  see  him  again  to-morrow;  the  lady’s  name  I forget.55 

“ July  1 st.  I am  glad  to  find  the  lady  who  has  discovered 
the  Venetian  secret  declines  submitting  it  to  any  one  artist. 
She  wants  the  governors  of  the  British  Institution  to  send 
many  artists,  and  to  offer  very  high  premiums  for  their 
success,  so  Sir  George  hopes  there  will  be  an  end  of  it.  Mrs. 

saw  the  Exhibition,  and  was  delighted  with  my  picture, 

which,  she  says,  ‘ flatters  the  spot,  but  does  not  belie  nature.5  55 

“ July  2nd.  Received  a letter  from  the  Institution  offering 
prizes  for  the  best  sketches  and  pictures  of  the  Battles  of 
the  Nile  and  Trafalgar;  it  does  not  concern  me.55 

“ July  3rd.  Mr.  Ottley  called  this  morning.  I was  intro- 
duced to  him  by  Sir  George  Beaumont.  He  was  much 
pleased,  and  stayed  a long  time,  and  looked  at  a good  many 
things.  He  is  more  of  a connoisseur  than  an  artist,  and 
therefore  full  of  objections.  A good  undoer,  but  little  of  a 
doer,  and  with  no  originality  of  mind.  He  invited  me  to 
drink  tea  with  him. — Mr.  Appleton,  the  tub-maker,  of 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  called  to  know  if  I had  a damaged 
picture  which  I could  let  him  have  cheap,  as  he  is  fitting  up 


French  Criticisms 


1 1 1 


a room  up  one  pair  of  stairs.  . . . Went  to  tea  with  Mr. 
Ottley.  Saw  some  beautiful  prints.  Such  a collection  of 
Waterloo’s  etchings,  I never  saw.  There  was  also  an  abun- 
dance of  his  own  things,  which  gave  me  a great  deal  of  pain; 
so  laborious,  so  tasteless,  and  so  useless,  but  very  plausible. 
They  were  all  of  the  single  leaf,1  and  chiefly  laurels,  weeds, 
hops,  grapes,  and  bell  vines ; and  ten  thousand  of  them.  He 
is  a very  clever  writer  and  a good  man.  He  says  he  has  lost 
a great  deal  by  his  publications  on  art.” 

“ July  7th.  Took  tea  with  Rochard.  The  Chalons  and 
Newton  there.  A pleasant  evening.  Saw  in  a newspaper 
on  the  table,  a paragraph  mentioning  the  arrival  of  my 
pictures  in  Paris.  They  have  caused  a stir,  and  the  French 
critics  by  profession  are  very  angry  with  the  artists  for 
admiring  them.  All  this  is  amusing  enough,  but  they  can- 
not get  at  me  on  this  side  of  the  water,  and  I shall  not  go 
there.” 

“ July  ioth.  Dressed  to  go  to  Leslie’s  to  dinner.  It  is  a 
very  fit  house  for  an  artist,  but  sadly  out  of  the  way.  But  it 
is  quite  in  the  country.  Willes  and  Newton  there.  After 
dinner  took  a walk  in  the  fields  and  to  the  new  church,  St. 
John’s  Wood,  where  my  poor  uncle,  David  Pike  Watts,  is 
buried.  Saw  the  tomb.  A lovely  evening.” 

In  another  part  of  this  journal,  Constable  describes  the 
familiarity  of  some  of  his  neighbour’s  pigeons.  They  came 
into  a room  where  John  Dunthome  was  working,  and 
perched  on  the  easel;  and  he  continues:  “Mary  Constable 
told  me  a funny  story  of  one  of  her  swans  and  a duck  that 
had  young  ones.  He  poked  his  long  neck  towards  some  of 
her  brood,  and  she  attacked  him  with  fury,  and  after  a great 
to-do,  and  splashing,  and  noise,  and  hissing,  and  flapping 
of  wings,  she  drove  him  off,  and  rode  away  in  triumph  on 
his  back.” 

“ Brighton,  July  18th.  My  dear  Fisher,  I have  often 
attempted  to  write  to  you,  but  in  London  I have  so  many 
occupations  and  interruptions,  that  I was  glad  to  put  it  off 
’till  I arrived  here,  whither  I am  come  to  seek  some  quiet 
with  my  family.  ...  I have  formed  a plan  of  receiving 
no  commission  under  twenty  guineas,  however  small,  as  the 
picture  must  be  complete,  and  the  subject  as  good  as  one  on 

1 He  means  that  every  single  leaf  was  drawn  without  attention  to 
the  masses. 


I I 2 


Life  of  Constable 

a six-foot  canvas.  We  have  received  a letter  from  the  wise 
men  of  the  Institution;  they  offer  a good  thing;  it  is  to 
receive  some  pictures  from  living  artists  which  are  in  private 
hands,  to  form  an  Exhibition  next  year  instead  of  the  old 
masters.  I have  to  beg  that  Tinney’s  picture  may  be  one, 
and  as  it  is  already  in  my  possession,  it  is  convenient.  . . . 
The  French  critics  have  begun  with  me,  and  that  in  the 
usual  way,  by  comparison  with  what  has  been  done.  They 
are  angry  with  the  artists  for  admiring  these  pictures,  which 
they  ‘ shall  now  proceed  to  examine,’  etc.  They  acknow- 
ledge the  effect  to  be  ‘ rich  and  powerful,  and  that  the  whole 
has  the  look  of  nature,  and  the  colour,  their  chief  excellence, 
to  be  true  and  harmonious;  but  shall  we  admire  works  so 
unusual  for  these  excellencies  alone  ? what  then  is  to  become 
of  the  great  Poussin?  ’ They  then  caution  the  younger 
artists  to  * beware  of  the  seduction  of  these  English  works.’ 
All  this  comes  of  being  regular  critics.  The  execution  of 
my  pictures,  I know,  is  singular,  but  I like  that  rule  of 
Sterne’s,  * Never  mind  the  dogmas  of  the  schools,  but  get 
at  the  heart  as  you  can;  ’ and  it  is  evident  something  like 
this  has  been  attained,  by  the  impression  these  pictures  have 
made  on  most  people  who  have  seen  them  here  and  abroad. 

I have  the  paper,  and  will  send  it  to  you.  I am  planning 
some  large  landscape,  but  I have  no  inclination  to  pursue  my 
‘ Waterloo  ’;  I am  impressed  with  a notion  that  it  will  ruin 
me.  I want  to  see  you  at  Salisbury,  but  how  or  when,  I 
know  not.  I am  looking  for  a month’s  quiet  here,  and  have 
brought  with  me  several  works  to  complete.  What  a bless- 
ing it  is  thus  to  be  able  to  carry  my  profession  with  me. 
My  wife  is  much  better  and  stronger  for  the  change.” 

Constable’s  youngest  brother,  Mr.  Abram  Constable,  with 
whom  he  kept  up  a constant  correspondence,  in  a letter  dated 
August  2nd,  says:  “ I fully  coincide  in  your  opinion  of  John 
Dunthome.  He  is  certainly  the  most  extraordinary  young 
man  within  my  knowledge.  So  clever,  so  active,  so  inno- 
cent,— ’tis  marvellous.  I assure  you  I had  not  overlooked 
his  conduct.  . . . Johnny  has  made  every  inquiry  about 
the  elm  called  ‘ Buck’s  elm,’  and  no  intention  is  entertained 
of  its  coming  down  at  present;  but  a look-out  shall  be  kept 
to  prevent  it,  if  possible.  ’Tis  of  no  value  when  down,  and 
I hope  that  circumstance  will  prevent  it.  . . . John  Dun- 
thome is  too  good  to  pass  his  life  among  dissolute  workmen.” 


Washington  Irving  1 1 3 

Immediately  on  alighting  from  the  coach  after  one  of  his 
journeys  either  to  or  from  Brighton,  Constable  made  the 
beautiful  sketch  from  which  the  engraving  in  the  English 
Landscape , called,  “ Summer,  Afternoon  after  a Shower,”  was 
taken ; it  was  the  recollection  of  an  effect  he  had  noticed  near 
Red  Hill. 

“ Gillingham,  Shaftesbury,  September  8th.  My  dear  Con- 
stable. ...  You  recollect,  probably,  a conversation  we 
had  with  Leslie  respecting  Washington  Irving.  I said  that 
Irving  had  not  done  justice  to  the  present  character  of  the 
clergy.  That  they  were  a class  of  men  who  much  admired 
his  works,  and  had  literary  reputation  much  at  their  dis- 
posal. In  his  new  work,  the  Tales  of  a Traveller,  he  has  made 
us  ample  amends.  I copy  the  following  from  page  316, 
vol.  i.  ‘ He  was  a good  man:  a worthy  specimen  of  that 
valuable  body  of  our  country  clergy,  who  silently  and  un- 
ostentatiously do  a vast  deal  of  good;  who  are,  as  it  were, 
woven  into  the  whole  system  of  rural  life,  and  operate  upon 
it  with  the  steady  yet  unobtrusive  influence  of  temperate 
piety  and  learned  good  sense.’  The  rest  of  the  volume  is  on 
the  same  subject,  and  gives  a pretty  picture  of  the  serene 
tranquillity  and  decorum  of  a Cathedral  city,  and  a most 
amiable  hint  at  the  character  of  a Prebendary.  Is  this  acci- 
dent?— Take  an  opportunity  to  let  Leslie  know  that  the 
compliment  has  not  been  lost  on  the  body.  ...  I have  a 
great  mind  to  dress  up  your  description  of  Brighton  and  send 
it  to  John  Bull.  It  is  an  odious  place.  J.  Fisher.” 

“ November  2nd.  My  very  dear  Fisher,  I am  determined 
to  write  to  you,  though  scarcely  equal  to  it.  . . . All  my 
indispositions  have  their  source  in  my  mind.  It  is  when  I 
am  restless  and  unhappy  that  I become  susceptible  of  cold, 
damp,  heats,  and  such  nonsense.  I have  not  been  well  for 
some  weeks,*  but  I hope  soon  to  get  to  work  again.  ...” 

“ November  2nd.  My  dear  Constable,  Association  of 
ideas  is  sometimes  very  singular.  What  is  there  in  common 
between  you  and  Alderman  Wood  ? and  yet  seeing  his  name 
at  the  head  of  a paragraph  in  a newspaper,  made  me  think 
of  you.  I found  that  his  son  had  been  elected  to  some  living 

in  the  city,  and  that  J.  had  been  a rival  candidate. 

The  name  of  J.  called  that  of  Constable  to  my  mind 

by  an  intimate  association,  and  so  I stole  a few  moments  to 
write  to  you  on  the  spur  of  the  recollection. — November  4th. 

H 


Life  of  Constable 


1 14 

I had  written  thus  far,  when,  yesterday,  I received  your 
distressing  letter.  I was  very  sorry  to  perceive  both  from 
the  matter  and  the  handwriting  that  you  were  very  much 
out  of  order.  But  I trust  the  cold  weather,  and  your  tem- 
perate habits,  will  soon  restore  nature  to  her  healthy  action. 
. . . Everybody  has  been  ill.  Abernethy  says  that  there 
is  not  a healthy  man  in  London;  such  is  the  state  of  the 
atmosphere  and  mode  of  life.  ...  I copy  you  a passage 
from  D’lsraeli’s  Anecdotes , in  the  absence  of  news.  £ In  all 
art,  perfection  lapses  into  that  weakened  state  too  often 
dignified  as  classical  imitation.  It  sinks  into  mannerism, 
wantons  into  affectation,  or  shoots  out  into  fantastic  novel- 
ties. When  all  languishes  in  a state  of  mediocrity,  or  is 
deformed  by  false  taste,  then  some  fortunate  genius  has  the 
glory  of  restoring  another  golden  age  of  invention.’  History 
of  the  Caracci.  J.  Fisher.” 

“ November  13th.  My  dear  Constable.  This  moist  muggy 
weather  seems  to  have  deranged  everybody;  and  among 
others,  your  humble  servant.  I have  been,  as  the  old 
women  say,  ‘ quite  poorly,’  this  last  week,  and  not  equal  to 
the  energy  of  a letter.  ...  I hope  you  will  diversify  your 
subject  this  year  as  to  time  of  day.  Thomson,  you  know, 
wrote  not  four  Summers,  but  four  Seasons.  People  get 
tired  of  mutton  at  top,  mutton  at  bottom,  and  mutton  at  the 
side,  though  of  the  best  flavour  and  smallest  size.  When  you 
write  again,  give  us  a little  history  of  your  wife  and  children. 
J.  Fisher.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  November  17th.  My  dear  Fisher, 
Thank  you  for  your  letter  of  yesterday.  . . . John  Dun- 
thorne  is  here ; he  cheers  and  helps  me  so  much  that  I 
could  wish  to  have  him  always  with  me;  he  forwards  me  a 
good  deal  in  subordinate  parts,  such  as  tracing,  squaring, 
etc.  This  morning  a gentleman  called  on  me  who  has  nine 
telescopes;  you  may  judge  how  thick  they  soon  got;1  it  is 
John’s  forte,  he  is  to  see  them  to-morrow.  I am  planning 
a large  picture,  and  I regard  all  you  say;  but  I do  not  enter 
into  that  notion  of  varying  one’s  plans  to  keep  the  public  in 
good  humour.  Change  of  weather  and  effect  will  always 
afford  variety.  What  if  Vander  Velde  had  quitted  his  sea 

1 Young  Dunthorne,  who  was  very  ingenious,  was  fond  of  astronomy. 
His  father  showed  me,  in  1840,  the  remains  of  a large  telescope  made 
by  him. 


Driving  a Nail  1 1 5 

pieces,  or  Ruysdael  his  waterfalls,  or  Hobbema  his  native 
woods.  The  world  would  have  lost  so  many  features  in  art. 
I know  that  you  wish  for  no  material  alteration ; but  I have 
to  combat  from  high  quarters,  even  from  Lawrence,  the 
plausible  argument  that  subject  makes  the  picture.  Perhaps 
you  think  an  evening  effect  might  do ; perhaps  it  might  start 
me  some  new  admirers,  but  I should  lose  many  old  ones.  I 
imagine  myself  driving  a nail;  I have  driven  it  some  way, 
and  by  persevering  I may  drive  it  home;  by  quitting  it  to 
attack  others,  though  I may  amuse  myself,  I do  not  advance 
beyond  the  first,  while  that  particular  nail  stands  still.  No 
man  who  can  do  any  one  thing  well,  will  be  able  to  do  any 
other  different  thing  equally  well;  and  this  is  true  even  of 
Shakespeare,  the  greatest  master  of  variety.  Send  me  the 
picture  of  the  shady  lane  when  you  like.  Do  you  wish  to 
have  any  other?  The  sketch-book  I am  busy  with  for  a 
few  days;  it  is  full  of  boats  and  coast  scenes.  Subjects  of 
this  sort  seem  to  me  more  fit  for  execution  than  for  senti- 
ment. I hold  the  genuine  pastoral  feeling  of  landscape  to 
be  very  rare,  and  difficult  of  attainment.  It  is  by  far  the 
most  lovely  department  of  painting  as  well  as  of  poetry. 
I looked  into  Angerstein’s  the  other  day;  how  paramount 
is  Claude!  . . . Can  anything  exceed  the  villainy  of  the 

newspapers  ? after  having  said  everything  bad  of , most 

of  which  is  true,  they  are  now  endeavouring  to  turn  justice 

from  its  course.  I met  Sir several  times  at  Brighton. 

He  is  a strong,  sensible,  stupid,  clever,  foolish,  vulgar  dog; 
very  amusing,  no  doubt  a great  liar,  has  long  been  carried 
about  on  the  shoulders  of  the  world,  and  his  mind  is  filled 
with  all  the  dirt  of  life.  I fear  you  will  be  annoyed  by  this 
ill-written  rigmarole  letter.  But  forgive  it,  as  it  has  afforded 
much  amusement  to  my  mind  to  write  it.  My  wife  wants 
some  account  of  Mrs.  Fisher  and  your  children.” 

“ My  dear  Constable,  You  will  find  in  the  enclosed  some 
remarks  upon  your  pictures  at  Paris.  I returned  last  night 
and  brought  this  with  me.  The  French  have  been  forcibly 
struck  by  them,  and  they  have  created  a division  in  the 
school  of  the  landscape  painters  of  France.  You  are  accused 
of  carelessness  by  those  who  acknowledge  the  truth  of  your 
effect;  and  the  freshness  of  your  pictures  has  taught  them 
that  though  your  means  may  not  be  essential,  your  end  must 
be  to  produce  an  imitation  of  nature,  and  the  next  exhibi- 


Life  of  Constable 


1 16 

tion  in  Paris  will  teem  with  your  imitators,  or  the  school  of 
nature  versus  the  school  of  Birmingham.  I saw  one  man 
draw  another  to  your  pictures  with  this  expression,  ‘ Look  at 
these  landscapes  by  an  Englishman, — the  ground  appears 
to  be  covered  with  dew.’  Yours  very  sincerely,  William 
Brockedon.  n,  Caroline  Street,  Bedford  Square,  Decem- 
ber 13th.” 

Constable  told  me  of  a singular  practice  of  a namesake  of 
his,  who  was  not,  however,  a relation.  Archibald  Constable, 
the  Edinburgh  publisher,  called  on  him,  I think  in  this  year, 
and  introduced  himself,  saying  that,  wherever  he  was,  he 
made  it  a point  to  call  on  every  person  he  could  find,  bearing 
his  own  name,  whom  he  had  not  previously  known.1 

“ Charlotte  Street,  December  17th.  My  dear  Fisher,  . . . 
How  much  I should  like  to  pass  a day  or  two  with  you  at 
Bath;  but  after  such  an  interrupted  summer,  and  so  much 
indisposition  in  the  autumn,  I find  it  quite  impossible  to 
leave  London,  my  work  is  so  much  behindhand.  We  hear 
of  sad  illnesses  all  round  us,  caused,  no  doubt,  by  the  exces- 
sive wet.  I have  just  received  a letter  from  Sir  George 
Beaumont;  he  has  been  seriously  ill,  and  quite  unable  until 
lately  to  touch  a pencil.  Everything  which  belongs  to  me 
belongs  to  you,  and  I should  not  have  hesitated  a moment 
about  sending  you  the  Brighton  sketch-book,  but  when  you 
wrote,  my  Frenchman  was  in  London,  we  were  settling  about 
work,  and  he  has  engaged  me  to  make  twelve  drawings,  to 
be  engraved  here,  and  published  in  Paris,  all  from  this  book. 
I work  at  these  in  the  evening.  This  book  is  larger  than  my 
others,  and  does  not  contain  odds  and  ends,  but  all  regular 
compositions  of  boats  or  beach  scenes;  there  may  be  about 
thirty  of  them.  If  you  wish  to  see  them  for  a few  days,  tell 
me  how  I am  to  send  them  to  you.  My  Paris  affairs  go  on 
very  well.  Though  the  director,  the  Count  Forbin,  gave 

1 1 did  not  meet  with  the  following  account  of  the  origin  of  the  name, 
in  time  to  place  it,  where  it  should  have  appeared,  in  the  first  chapter. 
“ The  surname  of  Constable  first  took  its  rise  from  an  office  of  great 
trust  so  called  in  former  times,  as  the  constable  of  Chester,  the  con- 
stable of  Richmond;  and  at  this  time  there  is  a constable  of  the 
Tower  of  London,  which  office  was  introduced  into  England  by  the 
Normans.  Some  of  this  sort  of  offices  were  in  Bretagne,  in  France, 
whence  many  of  William  the  Conqueror’s  army  came  into  England 
with  him,  among  whom  we  find  one  Constable,  the  first  of  that  name, 
as  appears  by  the  list  or  table  of  Battle  Abbey,  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
printed  in  How’s  Chronicle,  p.  138.” — Poulson’s  History  of  Holder  ness  8 
vol.  ii. 


Reputation  in  Paris  1 1 7 

my  pictures  very  respectable  situations  in  the  Louvre  in  the 
first  instance,  yet  on  being  exhibited  a few  weeks,  they  ad- 
vanced in  reputation,  and  were  removed  from  their  original 
situations  to  a post  of  honour,  two  prime  places  in  the 
principal  room.  I am  much  indebted  to  the  artists  for  their 
alarum  in  my  favour;  but  I must  do  justice  to  the  count, 
who  is  no  artist  I believe,  and  thought  that  as  the  colours  are 
rough,  they  should  be  seen  at  a distance.  They  found  the 
mistake,  and  now  acknowledge  the  richness  of  texture,  and 
attention  to  the  surface  of  things.  The}'  are  struck  with 
their  vivacity  and  freshness,  things  unknown  to  their  own  pic- 
tures. The  truth  is,  they  study  (and  they  are  very  laborious 
students)  pictures  only;  and  as  Northcote  says,  * They 
know  as  little  of  nature  as  a hackney-coach  horse  does  of  a 
pasture.’  In  fact,  it  is  worse,  they  make  painful  studies  of 
individual  articles,  leaves,  rocks,  stones,  etc.,  singly;  so  that 
they  look  cut  out,  without  belonging  to  the  whole,  and  they 
neglect  the  look  of  nature  altogether,  under  its  various 
changes.  I learnt  yesterday  that  the  proprietor  asks  twelve 
thousand  francs  for  them.  They  would  have  bought  one, 

‘ The  Waggon,’  for  the  nation,  but  he  would  not  part  them. 
He  tells  me  the  artists  much  desire  to  purchase  and  deposit 
then  in  a place  where  they  can  have  access  to  them.  Rey- 
nolds is  going  over  in  June  to  engrave  them,  and  has  sent 
two  assistants  to  Paris  to  prepare  the  plates.  He  is  now 
about  ‘ The  Lock,’  and  he  is  to  engrave  the  twelve  drawings. 
In  all  this  I am  at  no  expense,  and  it  cannot  fail  to  advance 
my  reputation.  My  wife  is  translating  for  me  some  of  the 
criticisms.  They  are  amusing  and  acute,  but  shallow.  After 
saying,  ‘ It  is  but  justice  to  admire  the  truth,  the  colour,  and 
the  general  vivacity  and  richness  of  surface,  yet  they  are  like 
preludes  in  music,  and  the  full  harmonious  warblings  of  the 
Htolian  lyre,  which  mean  nothing ; ’ and  they  call  them 
* orations  and  harangues,  and  high  flowery  conversations 
affecting  a careless  ease,’  etc.  However,  it  is  certain  they 
have  made  a stir,  and  set  the  students  in  landscape  to  think- 
ing. Now  you  must  believe  me,  there  is  no  other  person 
living  but  yourself  to  whom  I could  write  in  this  manner, 
and  all  about  myself ; but  take  away  a painter’s  vanity,  and 
he  will  never  touch  a pencil  again.” 

The  following  is  part  of  Mr.  Fisher’s  reply  to  this  letter. 
“ I am  pleased  to  find  they  are  engraving  your  pictures, 


1 1 8 Life  of  Constable 

because  it  will  tend  to  spread  your  fame:  but  I am  almost 
timid  about  the  result.  There  is,  in  your  pictures,  too  much 
evanescent  effect,  and  general  tone,  to  be  expressed  by  black 
and  white.  Your  charm  is  colour,  and  the  cool  tint  of 
English  daylight.  The  burr  of  mezzotint  will  never  touch 
that.” 


CHAPTER  IX 
1825 

Brighton  Sketches.  Family  Picture  at  Woodmanstone.  Picture  of 
“ The  Jumping  Horse.”  Gold  Medal  awarded  to  Constable  by 
the  King  of  France.  Due  de  Choiseul.  Paley.  Sharon  Turner. 
Picture  of  “ The  Lock.”  Opinion  expressed  of  it  by  S.  W.  Rey- 
nolds. Constable’s  Pictures  in  the  Exhibition  at  the  Academy. 
Sale  of  two  Pictures  to  Mr.  Darby.  Exhibition,  at  the  British 
Gallery,  of  a Selection  of  the  Works  of  Living  Artists.  Illness  of 
Constable’s  eldest  son.  Picture  of  “ The  White  Horse,”  sent  to 
Lisle.  Dinner  at  Lady  Dysart’s.  Northcote.  Cat  and  Chickens. 
Mr.  Bannister.  J.  Dunthorne’s  Description  of  “ The  Devil  and 
Dr.  Faustus.” 

In  a letter  dated  January  5th,  1825,  Constable  speaks  of 
sending  some  of  his  Brighton  oil  sketches  to  Fisher,  and 
says,  “ Perhaps  the  sight  of  the  sea  may  cheer  Mrs.  Fisher  ” 
(who  was  then  very  ill);  he  adds,  “ I am  writing  this  hasty 
scrawl  in  the  dark  before  a six-foot  canvas,  which  I have 
launched  with  all  my  usual  anxieties.  It  is  a canal  scene, 
my  next  shall  contain  a scratch  with  a pen.” 

“ January  22nd.  My  dear  Fisher,  I am  uneasy  that  I have 
not  heard  from  you.  I hope  your  invalids  have  neither 
relapsed  nor  increased  in  number.  I write  from  Woodman- 
stone,  a village  six  miles  south-east  of  Croydon.  I am 
painting  a group  of  three  children  with  a donkey,  the  grand- 
children of  Mr.  Lambert,  whose  ancestors  lived  here  in  1300. 
It  is  to  go  to  the  parents  in  the  East  Indies.  The  children 
are  here  for  their  education,  and  spoke  the  language  imper- 
fectly on  their  arrival.  The  butcher  was  driving  home  a 
calf  in  his  cart,  when  one  of  the  boys  exclaimed,  ‘ Aunt,  what 
for  one  gentleman  take  away  cow  in  gig .’  You  may  suppose 
I left  home  to  execute  this  commission  very  unwillingly. — 
The  large  subject  on  my  easel  is  promising;  it  is  a canal, 
and  full  of  the  bustle  incident  to  such  a scene  when  four  or 
five  boats  are  passing  in  company;  with  dogs,  horses,  boys, 
men,  women  and  children,  and  best  of  all,  old  timber,  props, 
water  plants,  willows,  stumps,  sedges,  old  nets,  etc. — I shall 
not  object,  if  you  do  not,  to  your  picture  going  to  the  Gallery, 

119 


I 20 


Life  of  Constable 


but  I shall  try  for  Tinney’s  when  the  time  comes,  as  I think 
it  has  more  qualities  for  exhibition  among  other  pictures. — 
I had  this  morning  a letter  from  Paris,  informing  me  that  on 
the  king’s  visit  to  the  Louvre,  he  was  pleased  to  award  me 
a gold  medal  for  the  merit  of  my  landscapes.  At  the  same 
time  he  made  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  a Knight  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour.  I have  a pride  and  satisfaction  in  mentioning 
this  to  you;  but  I can  truly  say  that  your  early  notice  of 
me,  and  your  friendship  for  me  in  my  obscurity,  was  worth 
more,  and  is  looked  back  to  by  me  with  more  heartfelt 
satisfaction  than  this,  and  all  the  other  notice  I have  met 
with,  put  together. — I left  home  on  Thursday,  and  shall  be 
back  by  the  end  of  the  week  My  little  group  is  on  the 
canvas,  and  makes  a pretty  picture.  In  the  background  is 
Woodmanstone  Church  ” (here  follows  a pen  sketch  of  the 
picture).  “ Mr.  Lambert  is  the  old  country  squire.  His 
study  contains  pictures  of  racers  and  hunters,  guns,  gaiters, 
gloves,  turn-screws,  tow,  gun-flints,  etc.  You  cannot  think 
how  much  I regret  being  here  to  the  neglect  of  my  large 
landscape;  but  I must  not  quarrel  with  kind  friends,  and 
kick  down  the  ladder.” 

“ Bath,  January  27th.  My  dear  Constable,  You  have  but 
too  well  guessed  the  cause  of  my  silence.  Two  of  my  chil- 
dren have  been  ill  with  fever  and  inflammation  of  the  wind- 
pipe. . . . My  wife,  thank  God,  is  entirely  recovered;  and 
for  my  own  part,  I have  not  been  so  well  for  years. — Your 
package  arrived  safe.  Your  Brighton  sketches  carried  us 
down  to  Osmington  in  imagination.  I showed  them  to  an 
artist  living  here:  he  wished  to  know  what  colours  you  used. 
The  Choiseul  Gallery  has  been  of  the  greatest  comfort  to  me. 
I have  copied,  in  lead  pencil,  Ostade’s  butcher  selling  the  ox, 
the  boy  looking  out  of  the  window  into  the  sunshine,  and 
a Vanderheyden.  Thanks  to  you  for  giving  me  the  sixth 
sense,  the  power  of  receiving  pleasure  from  the  chiaroscuro. 
It  has  whiled  away  many  an  anxious  hour. — I was  impatient 
to  hear  how  you  fared  at  the  visit  of  the  King  of  France  to 
the  Louvre.  Your  medal  could  not  have  given  you  greater 
exultation  than  it  did  me.  Indeed  I always  consider  your 
fame  as  mine,  and,  as  you  rise  in  slow  and  permanent  esti- 
mation, pride  myself  that  I have  formed  as  permanent  a 
friendship  with  a man  of  such  talent.  But  these  things  are 
better  felt  than  said. — I shall  be  running  up  to  London  soon, 


I 21 


Paley 

when  I shall  get  a sight  of  your  new  six-foot  canvas.  My 
wife  observed  that  your  enumeration  of  objects  ‘ carried  her 
down  to  the  river  side.’  I should  like  to  see  my  picture  at  the 
Gallery. — I do  think  that  an  impression  of  your  ‘ Cathedral  ’ 
would  sell  at  Salisbury;  but  it  entirely  depends  upon  the 
brilliancy  of  the  engraving.  ...  I began  this  letter  two 
days  ago;  since  then  I have  carried  my  two  sick  boys  to  a 
house  on  the  top  of  Lansdown,  and  they  begin  to  recover.” 

“ I have  been  reading  much,  lately,  on  the  subject  of  the 
French  revolution.  The  Due  de  Choiseul  was  principally, 
but  ignorantly,  perhaps,  instrumental  in  bringing  it  about, 
protecting  and  abetting  Voltaire  and  Co.  He  little  thought, 
that  in  patronising  their  licentious  pens,  he  was  laying  the 
foundation  of  the  bloody  insurrection  which  was  to  disperse 
his  gallery  of  pictures,  and  send  them  to  be  sold  to  the 
‘ Nation  of  shopkeepers.’  He  it  was  who  banished  the 
Jesuits,  the  first  and  necessary  step  to  success  in  bringing 
about  the  change.  He  died  the  year  before  the  volcano 
burst.  . . . John  Fisher.” 

“ Bath,  April  8th.  My  dear  Constable,  I rode  yesterday 
out  of  the  white  atmosphere  of  Bath,  into  the  green  village 
of  Bath-Easton,  and  found  myself  by  instinct  at  the  mill , 
surrounded  by  wiers,  back-waters,  nets  and  willows ; with  a 
smell  of  weeds,  flowing  water,  and  flour  in  my  nostrils.  I 
need  not  say  that  the  scene  brought  you  to  my  mind  and 
produced  this  letter.” 

Mr.  Fisher,  after  speaking  of  the  serious  illness  of  Mrs. 
Fisher,  continues,  “ I will  send  you  in  a week  or  two,  your 
sketches  back.  In  the  same  box  I shall  enclose  two  volumes 
of  Paley’s  posthumous  sermons,  which  you  may  read  to  your 
family  of  a Sunday  evening.  They  are  fit  companions  for 
your  sketches;  being  exactly  like  them,  full  of  vigour,  fresh, 
original,  warm  from  observation  of  nature,  hasty,  unpolished, 
untouched  afterwards.  There  is,  prefixed  to  a new  edition 
of  his  works,  a life  of  Paley,  by  his  son,  in  which  the  inner 
man  is  laid  open.  If  you  can  get  it,  there  are  parts  that 
will  delight  you.  He  appears  to  have  been  a strong-minded, 
guileless,  simple-hearted  man,  who  told  the  truth  and  de- 
clared his  honest  opinion  to  every  man  he  met  with,  friend 
or  foe.  Hence  he  was  sometimes  in  scrapes.  I hope  to  be 
able  to  get  a peep  at  the  metropolis  and  your  picture  about 
the  20th  of  June.  ...  In  a letter  I had  from  the  Charter 


I 22 


Life  of  Constable 

House,  it  was  mentioned  that  you  were  out  of  spirits,  seem- 
ingly, and  had  lost  your  usual  glee  in  conversation.  What 
cog  of  the  wheel  wanted  grease?  J.  Fisher.” 

Constable’s  answer  to  this  letter  is  missing,  but  its  tenor 
may,  in  part,  be  seen  by  Mr.  Fisher’s  reply.  “ Bath,  April 
ioth.  My  dear  Constable,  ...  We  are  going  on  for  the 
present  very  prosperously.  . . . My  mind  and  spirits  have 
been  much  shaken;  and  I received  your  voluntary  offer,  to 
come  down  to  Osmington,  with  an  exhilaration  that  I have 
been  long  unused  to.  We  will  wander  home  from  the  shore 
about  dusk  to  the  remnants  of  dinner,  as  heretofore,  and 
spend  the  evening  in  filling  up  sketches.  There  is  aways 
room  for  you.  Will  you  accompany  me  on  my  visitation, 
the  14th,  15th,  1 6th  June,  and  return  with  me  to  Osming- 
ton? . . . Why  was  not  your  picture  on  your  easel  a few 
weeks  longer?  I have  looked  over  your  letter,  but  find  no 
other  observation  to  make  on  it,  so  I will  conclude  with  a 
quotation  that  will  please  you.  By  the  bye,  you  never 
answer  my  letters.  You  write  as  if  you  had  not  received 
them.  My  extract  is  from  Sharon  Turner’s  History  of  Eng- 
land, vol.  i.  page  424,  4to.  He  is  speaking  of  our  classical 
education,  that  it  stunts  originality,  contracts  the  mind, 
and  makes  men  knowing  only  in  words.  It  is  a complete 
illustration  of  your  saying  that  ‘ a good  thing  is  never 
done  twice.’ — 

“ c It  has  been  remarked  that  great  excellence  has  been 
usually  followed  by  a decline.  No  second  Augustan  age  is 
found  to  occur.  A Virgil  emerges,  and  if  he  cast  on  his 
countrymen  an  everlasting  spell,  no  future  Virgil  appears, — 
no  second  Homer  or  Euripides, — no  succeeding  Pindar, 
Horace,  Demosthenes,  Thucydides,  Tacitus,  or  Cicero.  The 
fact  is  remarkable.  But  it  is  accounted  for,  not  in  a want 
of  talent,  but  from  the  destruction  of  talent  by  injudicious 
education.  It  is  in  literature,  as  in  painting:  if  we  study 
departed  excellence  too  intensely,  we  only  imitate;  we 
extinguish  genius,  and  sink  below  our  models.  If  we  make 
ourselves  copyists,  we  become  inferior  to  those  we  copy.  The 
exclusive  or  continual  contemplation  of  preceding  merit  con- 
tracts our  faculties  within,  greatly  within , its  peculiar  circle, 
and  makes  even  that  degree  of  excellence  unattainable  which 
we  admire  and  feed  upon.’ 

“ There  is  more  on  the  subject,  equally  good  if  you  turn 


“ The  Lock  ” 123 

to  the  book.  It  is  a highly  amusing  work.  Quite  original 
itself.  J.  Fisher.” 

“Charlotte  Street,  April  13th,  1825.  My  dear  Fisher, 
Thank  you  for  your  second  letter.  You  say  you  ‘ are  going 
on  prosperously/  and  this  has  relieved  me  from  a sad  feeling 
which  has  haunted  me  ever  since  I read  the  second  paragraph 
in  your  first.  ...  It  is  true  I do  not  answer  your  letters, 
but  I read  them  over  and  over,  and  they  generally  form 
answers  to  mine.  All  your  quotations  are  good,  and  make 
for  my  grand  theory.  It  is  the  rod  and  staff  of  my  practice, 
and  can  never  fail  or  deceive  its  possessor. 

“ They  are  overwhelmed  with  large  pictures  at  the 
Academy;  what  will  become  of  mine  I know  not,  but  I am 
told  it  looks  bright.  . . . My  ‘ Lock  5 is  now  on  my  easel; 
it  is  silvery,  windy,  and  delicious ; all  health,  and  the  absence 
of  everything  stagnant,  and  is  wonderfully  got  together;  the 
print  will  be  fine.  ...  I am  so  harassed  and  interrupted 
that  I must  now  conclude  almost  as  abruptly  as  I did  my 
last.  . . . The  visit  to  Osmington  I much  look  to.  Nothing 
shall  readily  occur  to  prevent  it.  I will  give  up  Paris  first. 
...  I have  rather  a cheering  account  of  my  picture  at 
Somerset  House.  Its  original  feeling  will  support  me  through 
all  inaccuracies.  But  they  should  not  be  there,  to  make  it 
more  academical,  and  to  prevent  the  learned  vulgar,  in  our 
art,  from  blowing  their  noses  upon  it.  . . . I am  summoned 
to  tea  with  my  wife  and  new  baby.”  1 

Constable’s  description  of  his  picture  of  “The  Lock,”  and 
some  passages  from  other  letters  in  a similar  strain  of  exulta- 
tion, have  been  retained  contrary  to  the  advice  of  a gentle- 
man with  whose  opinion  on  many  points  I am  so  fortunate 
as  to  coincide.  It  appeared  to  me  that  in  making  selections 
from  letters  not  intended  for  publication,  if  all  that  might 
seem  egotistical  were  omitted,  the  interest  would  be  greatly 
and  unnecessarily  lessened,  and  by  this  impression  I have 
been  guided  throughout  my  undertaking.  The  utterance  of 
a man’s  real  feelings  is  more  interesting,  though  it  may  have 
less  of  dignity  than  belongs  to  a uniform  silence  on  the  subject 
of  self,  while  the  vanity  is  often  no  greater  in  the  one  case 
than  in  the  other.  In  the  present  instance,  the  artist’s 
exultation  to  his  most  intimate  friend  at  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  aim  in  one  of  his  most  important  works,  is  so 
1 His  third  daughter. 


Life  of  Constable 


i 24 

natural,  and  the  qualities  he  had  kept  steadily  in  view  while 
engaged  on  it  are  so  well  described  by  him,  that  I cannot 
think  I am  doing  as  much  injustice  to  his  memory  by  pre- 
serving the  passage  as  I should  do  by  its  omission.  I am 
enabled  to  add  to  what  he  has  himself  said  of  “ The  Lock,” 
the  opinion  of  another  person,  Reynolds,  the  admirable 
engraver,  who  was  a good  judge  of  pictures,  and  whose 
praises  of  it  in  the  following  letter  were  sincere,  for  he  had 
undertaken  to  engrave  it  at  his  own  risk. 

“To  Mr.  J.  Constable.  My  dear  Sir,  I have,  since  the 
arrival  of  your  picture,  been  before  it  for  the  last  hour,  the 
light  of  a cheerful  day  through  the  clean  windows  falling 
full  upon  it.  It  is,  no  doubt,  the  best  of  your  works,  true  to 
nature,  seen  and  arranged  with  a professor’s  taste  and  judg- 
ment. The  execution  shows  in  every  part  a hand  of  experi- 
ence; masterly  without  rudeness,  and  complete  without 
littleness;  the  colouring  is  sweet,  fresh,  and  healthy;  bright 
not  gaudy,  but  deep  and  clear.  Take  it  for  all  in  all,  since 
the  days  of  Gainsborough  and  Wilson,  no  landscape  has  been 
painted  with  so  much  truth  and  originality,  so  much  art,  so 
little  artifice.  Yours  very  truly,  S.  W.  Reynolds.” 

Reynolds  was  interrupted  in  the  execution  of  his  plate 
by  illness,  and  did  not  live  to  complete  it;  but  the  same  sub- 
ject, from  a second  picture,  has  since  been  most  admirably 
engraved,  on  a larger  scale,  by  Mr.  Lucas,  and  forms  the 
companion  to  his  print  of  “ The  Corn  Field.” 

Constable  exhibited  three  pictures  this  year  at  the  Academy, 
of  which  the  one  mentioned  by  him  as  the  canal  scene  was 
the  largest.  The  chief  object  in  its  foreground  is  a horse 
mounted  by  a boy,  leaping  one  of  the  barriers  which  cross 
the  towing  paths  along  the  Stour  (for  it  is  that  river,  and 
not  a canal),  to  prevent  the  cattle  from  quitting  their  bounds. 
As  these  bars  are  without  gates,  the  horses,  which  are  of  a 
much  finer  race,  and  kept  in  better  condition  than  the 
wretched  animals  that  tow  the  barges  near  London,  are  all 
taught  to  leap;  their  harness  ornamented  over  the  collar 
with  crimson  fringe  adds  to  their  picturesque  appearance, 
and  Constable,  by  availing  himself  of  these  advantages,  and 
relieving  the  horse,  which  is  of  a dark  colour,  upon  a bright 
sky,  made  him  a very  imposing  object.  His  other  works 
at  the  Academy  were  both  landscapes,  one  of  which  was 
described  in  a newspaper  as  “ A scene  without  any  prominent 


His  Son’s  Illness 


125 

features  of  the  grand  or  beautiful,  but  with  a rich  broken 
foreground  sweetly  pencilled,  and  a very  pleasing  and  natural 
tone  of  colour  throughout  the  wild  green  distance.” 

These  two  last  pictures  were  purchased  by  Mr.  Francis 
Darby,  of  Colebrook  Dale.  Constable  was  highly  delighted 
that  they  had  attracted  the  notice  of  an  entire  stranger  to 
him. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  the  directors  of  the  British 
Institution,  instead  of  their  annual  display  of  works  of  the 
old  masters,  collected,  as  they  had  proposed,  some  of  the  best 
pictures  of  living  artists,  and  Constable  was  enabled  by  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Fisher  and  Mr.  Tinney  to  send  to  this  exhibi- 
tion, “ The  White  Horse  ” and  “ Stratford  Mill.” 

Among  Mr.  Fisher’s  letters,  I found  a sheet  of  paper  dated 
“ Osmington,  Weymouth,  August  12th,”  and  containing 
only  a pen  sketch  of  an  hour-glass  with  wings.  That  Con- 
stable was  at  this  time  in  a state  of  extreme  anxiety  on 
account  of  his  eldest  son,  who  was  very  ill,  will  be  seen  by 
Mr.  Fisher’s  next  letter,  dated,  “ Osmington,  August  24th,” 
in  which  he  says,  “ It  struck  me  after  I had  despatched  my 
blank  memorandum,  that  the  illness  of  yourself,  or  some  of 
your  family,  was  the  cause  of  your  non-appearance  here. 
Your  letter  with  its  uncomfortable  details  has  just  reached 
me.  If  you  can  get  the  consent  of  the  mother,  bring  your 
poor  boy  down  here  directly;  or  send  him  to  my  house  at 
Salisbury  and  we  will  meet  him  there.  He  shall  have  the 
best  advice  the  country  affords,  with  sea  air,  sea  bathing, 
and  good  food.  You  must  exonerate  me  from  any  respon- 
sibility if  anything  happens:  and  if  he  does  well  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done  for  him  in  the  way  of  education.  This  will 
relieve  the  mind  and  spirits  of  your  wife,  who  is  not  strong, 
and  will  give  you  more  leisure  for  your  easel.  . . . Bring 
your  boy  down  yourself  by  easy  stages,  or  if  you  prefer  it, 
bring  one  of  your  healthy  boys  and  leave  him  here  to  take 
his  chance.  As  for  money  matters  do  not  make  yourself 
uneasy.  Write  for  anything  you  want,  and  send  me  any 
picture,  in  pledge,  you  think  proper.  Your  family  or  your- 
self shall  have  the  difference  whenever  it  is  called  for.  What- 
ever you  do,  Constable,  get  rid  of  anxiety.  It  hurts  the 
stomach  more  than  arsenic.  It  generates  only  fresh  cause  for 
anxiety  by  producing  inaction  and  loss  of  time.  I have  heard 
it  said  of  generals  who  have  failed,  that  they  would  have 


126  Life  of  Constable 

been  good  officers  if  they  had  not  harassed  themselves  by 
looking  too  narrowly  into  details.  Does  the  cap  fit  ? It  does 
me.  ...  I would  have  come  to  Hampstead  had  I been  able. 
I could  sooner  do  it  now  and  at  this  distance,  and  will  come 
if  it  will  do  you  any  good. 

“ Pity  me.  I am  sitting  in  the  shade  with  my  children 
by  me,  writing  to  you,  with  a quiet  stomach  and  cool  head; 
and  I am  obliged  to  leave  all  this  to  go  ten  miles  to  eat  veni- 
son and  drink  claret  with  a brother  officer,  whose  head  is 
filled  with  the  same  sort  of  materials  that  his  venison  pasty  is 
made  of.  Let  me  hear  from  you  again  soon,  and  believe  me 
always  faithfully  yours,  John  Fisher.  ...  You  want  a 
staff  just  at  present.  Lean  upon  me,  hard.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  September  ioth.  My  very  dear  Fisher, 
I was  overcome  by  your  kind  and  most  friendly  letter,  which 
some  changes  here  have  prevented  my  answering  sooner. 
Your  offer  to  receive  my  dear  boy,  indeed,  all  your  friendly 
suggestions  are  fully  appreciated  by  my  wife  and  me,  and 
we  cannot  sufficiently  express  our  sense  of  them;  but  the 
distance  at  which  you  are  from  us  is  so  great,  and  you  have 
such  a charge  of  your  own,  that  we  know  not  what  to  do. 
We  determined  to  give  our  poor  boy  the  chance  of  the  sea, 
and  about  a week  ago  I took  them  all  to  Brighton.  I am 
now  quietly  at  my  easel  again;  I find  it  a cure  for  all  ills. 
My  commissions  press  in  on  me,  and  I have  sent  for  Johnny 
Dunthome,  who  wishes  to  be  here  again.  . . . But  I crave 
your  forgiveness  on  a serious  matter;  your  large  picture, 
‘ The  White  Horse/  is  now  exhibiting  at  the  city  of  Lisle. 
Wilkie,  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  and  myself  were  each  applied 
to  for  pictures  by  the  mayor  of  that  city,  who,  under  Royal 
Authority,  is  the  head  of  its  establishments.  It  will  be 
safely  returned  about  Christmas.  Lawrence  has  sent  some, 
but  Wilkie  is  abroad.” 

From  the  diary  which  Constable  kept  with  great  regularity 
and  minuteness,  and  sent  at  intervals  to  Mrs.  Constable,  the 
following  are  a few  quotations:  “September  4th.  Set  off 
for  Lady  Dysart’s,  and  had  a pleasant  ride  in  the  Richmond 
coach.  Received  in  the  most  agreeable  manner,  and  found 
there  Miss  Vernon,  once  maid  of  honour  to  Queen  Charlotte, 
Mrs.  Charles  Tollemache  and  her  daughter,  and  Lady  Laura. 
We  all  walked  in  the  garden  before  dinner,  at  which  I was 
placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  opposite  Lady  Dysart. 


A Grand  Epoch  12 7 

All  sorts  of  conversation,  but  not  much  that  I remember. 
They  talked  of  dress  and  of  the  new  large  sleeves;  Lady  D. 
did  not  like  them,  nor  the  long  waists  that  the  ladies  now 
wear.  They  said  I was  very  amusing,  and  Lady  D.  gave 
me  a sovereign  for  old  Fontaine,1  and  Mrs.  Tollemache  half- 
a-crown.  After  tea,  Lady  D.  said,  ‘ We  shall  shock  Mr. 
Constable,  we  are  going  to  have  a game  of  cards.’  2 They 
played  a four  game,  I know  not  what;  I walked  about  the 
grounds,  and  plucked  as  much  fruit  as  I wanted. 

“ September  7 th.  Got  up  early.  Set  to  work  on  my 
large  picture,3  took  out  the  old  willow  stump  by  the  horse, 
which  has  improved  the  picture  much;  made  one  or  two 
other  alterations.  Leslie  called  and  wanted  to  see  old 
Fontaine,  thinking  from  my  description  he  would  make  a 
good  Don  Quixote.  Indeed  he  has  the  look  of  an  old  gentle- 
man. . . . Called  at  Hamlet’s  for  my  medal,  met  there 
Richard  Gubbins ; he  was  looking  at  some  beautiful  bracelets, 
no  doubt  for  his  lady.  My  poor  girl  had  none  of  these  pretty 
things,  but  they  go  but  a little  way  towards  happiness,  nor 
do  they  always  insure  a good  husband;  but  Richard  will 
make  a good  husband,  he  is  so  good  a son.  . . . 

“ September  13th.  ...  In  the  evening  went  to  Mr. 
Northcote’s,  and  had  a delightful  conversation  about  paint- 
ing, etc.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  him  with  all  the  energy  of 
youth.  His  eye  sparkling  so  bright  and  so  sharp.  . . . 

“ September  16th.  This  morning,  a grand  epoch,  was 
ushered  in  by  a prodigious  bustle  with  the  fowls  in  the 
garden;  the  black  hen  making  a great  to  do,  the  cock  strutting 
about,  and  Billy  4 looking  at  them  in  great  astonishment  from 
the  back  kitchen  window.  When  all  was  a little  quiet,  I 
looked  into  the  brewhouse,  and  saw  her  on  the  nest  I had 
made,  and  at  breakfast  Elizabeth  brought  me  a beautiful  egg, 
probably  the  first  ever  laid  in  these  premises.  How  much 
we  have  changed  this  house  from  what  it  was  in  Mr.  Farring- 
ton’s time;  his  attics  turned  into  nurseries,  a beautiful  baby 
bom  in  his  bedroom,  his  washhouse  turned  into  a brewhouse, 
his  back  parlour,  which  contained  all  his  prints,  into  a bed- 

1 The  Swiss  organist,  who  had  become  a regular  pensioner  of  Con- 
stable. 

2 Constable  never  played.  He  said  he  “ considered  the  time  spent 
at  a card  table  as  a vacuum  in  life.” 

3 “ The  Leaping  Horse,”  which  had  met  with  no  purchaser. 

4 A cat. 


128  Life  of  Constable 

room,  and  his  painting  rooms  made  habitable;  well  done! 
Billy  is  a most  laughable  cat;  he  plays  with  the  kit,  pulls  it 
out  of  its  basket,  tosses  it  up,  and  holds  it  with  his  fore  feet  in 
a most  ridiculous  manner;  the  old  Lady  Hampstead  1 looking 
on  all  the  while,  rather  smiling  than  otherwise.  Sir  George 
Beaumont  called;  he  liked  what  I was  about,  but  wanted 

me  to  imitate  pictures.  . . . Took  poor  Mrs.  H her 

money.  I was  told  she  was  ill  and  in  bed.  How  sadly  this 
poor  artist’s  widow  closes  her  days.  Fortune  seems  indeed 
blind  to  give  Miss  Mellon  so  much,  and  this  poor  widow, 
who  is  really  a gentlewoman,  so  little.  I went  to  the  back 
drawing-room  to  see  how  Johnny  was  getting  on,  and  a dear 
little  Robin  was  washing  himself  in  the  pigeon’s  dish  at  the 
window.  Dipping  himself  all  over,  and  making  such  a dash- 
ing, and  shaking,  and  bobbing,  and  bustle,  that  it  was  quite 
ridiculous.  One  comes  to  Mr.  Bigg’s  garden,  and  sings 
every  night  and  morning  quite  loud  and  beautiful;  does  not 
this  portend  a hard  winter?  We  do  a great  deal  of  painting, 
not  going  out,  and  I am  getting  my  small  commissions  off 
my  hands  as  fast  as  I can.  I will  do  as  you  advise,  ‘ not 
undertake  little  things,  but  keep  to  my  large  pictures.’  But 
I must  make  my  mind  easy  as  to  those  I have  on  hand, 
namely,  * Salisbury  Cathedral,’  Mr.  Carpenter’s  picture,  Mr. 
Ripley’s,  Mr.  Arrowsmith’s,  and  Mr.  Mirehouse’s  picture  to 
be  altered.  All  these  are  paid  for,  and  one  more  fortnight 
will  clear  them  all  off;  how  comfortable  I shall  then  be.  I 
am  making  my  last  picture  saleable,  getting  the  outline  on 
the  ‘ Waterloo,’  etc. 

“ Sunday,  October  2nd.  Our  dear  blessed  wedding  day, 
owing  to  which  we  have  five  babies.  . . . 

“ October  4th.  ...  In  the  evening  Mr.  Stothard  called; 
we  walked  to  Islington  together,  he  came  back  to  tea  with 
me,  and  I consulted  him,  fortunately,  about  the  ‘ Waterloo 
Bridge,’  in  which  he  suggested  a very  capital  alteration.  It 
will  increase  its  consequence,  and  do  so  much  for  it,  that  I 
am  quite  in  spirits.  Your  father  wanted  me  to  go  to  St. 
Martin’s  Court  to  see  three  pictures  by  Morland,  one  at  nine 
shillings,  the  others  at  twelve  each.  If  I considered  them 
to  be  original,  I was  to  purchase  them  for  him,  as  he  thought 
them  very  pretty  paintings.  I went  and  found  three  coloured 
and  varnished  engravings  from  Morland,  Mr.  Bigg,  and 
1 The  mother  of  the  kitten. 


Fire  at  Osmington  129 

Wheatley.  The  boxing  ring  is  much  on  the  decline:  let  us 
hope  it  will  become  extinct.  I am  at  work  on  my  large 
* Waterloo  ’ on  the  real  canvas  ; in  the  evening  we  are  busy 
setting  my  portfolios  in  order,  etc.  ‘ Waterloo  ’ promises 
delightfully.” 

In  one  of  Mrs.  Constables  letters  to  her  husband,  she  says, 
“ I have  no  treat  like  your  journal  and  letters.  ...  I 
hardly  allow  myself  to  wish  for  you,  knowing  how  well  and 
profitably  you  are  employed;  but  I endeavour  to  make 
myself  happy,  as  the  separation  is  for  our  mutual  good. 
But  when  you  do  come,  I trust  we  shall  enjoy  our  rides  and 
walks. — I long  to  go  with  you  to  the  Dyke,  and  to  watch 
with  you  the  flying  shadows  on  the  downs.  The  Darbys 
are  quite  delighted  with  our  cottage.  They  say  we  have 
Hampstead  with  the  addition  of  the  sea.” 

“ Osmington,  September.  My  dear  Constable.  ...  I 
despair  of  ever  seeing  you  out  of  London,  but  I repeat  that 
I have  bed  and  board  at  your  service.  The  news  is,  that 
Mat.  Parham’s  (alias  Peme’s)  mill  is  burnt  to  the  ground, 
and  exists  only  on  your  canvas.  A huge  misshapen,  new, 
bright,  brick,  modem  improved,  patent  monster  is  starting 
up  in  its  stead. — Do  you  recollect  the  situation  of  Talbot’s 
barn  behind  the  old  Manor  House,  near  the  church  at 
Osmington?  It  took  fire  on  the  28th  September,  when  it 
was  surrounded  by  fourteen  large  ricks  at  the  distance  of  no 
more  than  twenty  yards.  No  water, — no  engines, — straw 
on  every  side, — the  barn  full  of  wheat, — and  thatched 
cottages,  and  comstacks  in  every  direction.  Talbot  lost  his 
presence  of  mind,  and  everybody  was  at  fault.  The  occasion 
called  me  out  of  my  usual  indolence.  I took  the  command, 
gave  plenty  of  beer  and  good  words,  worked  hard  myself, 
and  in  twenty  minutes  we  smothered  the  fire  with  no  other 
loss  than  that  of  the  bam.  It  was  distressing  to  hear  the  poor 
rats  squalling  at  one  end  of  the  barn  as  the  fire  approached 
them.  They  could  not  escape.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  November  12th.  My  dear  Fisher, 

. . . What  you  say  of  Mrs.  Fisher  and  yourself  and  family 
makes  me  very  happy.  I am  just  returned  from  Brighton, 
and  am  glad  that  I can  give  you  a good  account  of  my  wife 
and  children;  my  poor  boy  has  gained  strength  and  com- 
posure. I have  been  only  occasionally  with  them,  being 

1 


Life  of  Constable 


130 

very  busy  here,  where  I have  done  a great  deal.  I am  hard 
at  my  ‘ Waterloo/  which  shall  be  finished  for  the  next 
Exhibition,  saving  only  the  fatalities  of  life.  I have  nearly 
completed  a second  ‘ Cathedral/  and  I think  you  will  perhaps 
prefer  it  to  the  first,  but  I will  send  it  to  Salisbury  for  your 
inspection.  I have  much  more  to  say  about  pictures,  but 
you  say  I never  answer  your  letters.  Your  last  delighted  me. 
The  account  of  the  fire  and  the  rats  interested  John  Dun- 
thorne  and  me  alike.  How  fortunate  that  you  were  there.  I 
am  vexed  at  the  fate  of  the  poor  old  mill.  There  will  soon  be 
an  end  of  the  picturesque  in  the  kingdom.  I desire  to  come 
to  Salisbury,  if  only  for  two  days,  to  renew  our  friendship  in 
those  walks  where  it  first  took  so  deep  a root.  I will  come. 
How  did  the  fire  originate?  Write  for  me  when  you  wish  for 
me.  You  set  my  mind  at  rest  by  the  way  in  which  you  speak 
of  your  picture  being  at  Lisle;  they  have  sent  to  know  the 
price;  I have  set  them  right  on  that  head.  I am  uncom- 
monly well;  never  in  better  health  or  spirits.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  November  19th.  My  dear  Fisher. 
. . . My  expectation  of  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  at 
Salisbury  will  be  but  a vision.  I am  so  hard  run  in  every 
way  that  I know  not  which  canvas  to  go  to  first.  My 
‘ Waterloo/  like  a blister,  began  to  stick  closer  and  closer, 
and  to  disturb  my  rest  at  nights.  But  I am  in  a field  that 
knows  no  favour  or  affection:  * Go  on/  is  the  only  order 
heard.  . . . My  name  will  not  appear  at  the  opening  of  the 
noble  institution  in  Edinburgh.  I should  like  to  have  struck 
a blow  in  that  quarter;  but  I must  submit  to  circumstances. 
. . . John  Dunthorne  and  I are  delighted  at  the  full  occupa- 
tion we  have  here.  He  is  calm,  gentle,  clever,  industrious, 
full  of  prudence,  and  free  from  vice.” 

“ November  26th.  My  dear  Fisher,  My  new  picture  of 
Salisbury  is  very  beautiful,  and  I have  repainted  entirely  that 
belonging  to  Mr.  Mirehouse:  but  when  I thus  speak  of  my 
pictures,  remember  it  is  to  you,  and  only  in  comparison  with 
myself.  These  pictures  of  the  ‘ Cathedral  ’ have  caused  me  of 
late  to  be  almost  abiding  with  you.  My  finances  are  sadly 
deranged,  and  this,  I fear,  will  cause  me  to  give  up  my  large 
work.  I have  just  had  a visit  from  Mr.  Bannister 1 to  request 
a landscape;  he  has  long  desired  one  of  me,  from  which,  as 
he  says,  ‘ he  can  feel  the  wind  blowing  on  his  face.’  Two 
1 The  inimitable  “ Jack  Bannister.” 


Mr.  Bannister 


1 31 

chimney  sweepers  were  at  my  door,  ‘ What?  ’ he  said, 

‘ brother  brush.’  ” 

In  the  journal  written  for  his  wife  Constable  says,  “ Novem- 
ber 25th.  Painted  all  day  on  Mr.  Mirehouse’s  little  picture 
of  the  ‘ Cathedral,’  making  in  all  three  ‘ Cathedrums,’  as 
pretty  Minna  1 calls  them.  Miss  Bigg  was  here  to  know  what 
we  paid  for  asses’  milk,  as  they  charge  six  shillings  a quart 
at  the  Wellington  Ass  Shop  in  the  New  Road.  Mr.  Strutt 
called  to  say  they  had  orders  for  the  play,  Drury  Lane,  and 
asked  me  to  join  them  to  see  ‘ Dr.  Faustus  and  the  Devil.’ 
I declined,  so  he  was  kind  enough  to  take  Johnny  Dunthome, 
and  he  was  much  pleased,  though  ‘ it  was  very  terrible.’  The 
Devil  was  of  a flaming  red,  and  had  a diabolical  countenance, 
and  it  was  shocking  to  see  how  he  led  on  his  victim  to  per- 
petrate every  crime,  till  he  was  involved  in  Hell  at  last.” 

“ November  28th.  Master  Billy  kicked  up  a terrible  rumpus 
in  the  yard  to-day;  he  wanted  to  have  a game  of  play  with 
the  fowls,  but  they  took  it  in  earnest,  and  made  a great  noise, 
especially  the  cock.  John  and  I went  to  their  assistance. 
Mr.  Balmanno  called,  and  was  so  delighted  with  my  ‘ Water- 
loo ’ (though  he  only  saw  the  sketch  and  outline),  that  he 
says  it  will  be  my  triumph,  and  that  I shall  ‘ certainly  set 
the  Thames  on  fire,  if  anybody  can.’  I am  now  finishing 
a copy  of  my  ‘ Lock,’  which  rejoices  me  a good  deal;  it  is 
a very  lovely  subject.  Mr.  Bannister  called,  and  saw  all  my 
goings  on.  He  is  fond  of  my  landscapes,  and  says  he  must 
have  one.  I think  he  likes  the  1 Lock  ’ so  much  that  I shall 
reduce  it  to  the  size  of  Fisher’s  old  mill;  how  I shall  please 
him,  or  when,  I do  not  know.  He  says  £ he  breathes  the 
open  air  in  my  pictures,  they  are  more  than  fresh,  they  are 
exhilarating.’ 

“ Miss  Amott  called  to  ask  me,  with  her  mother’s  compli- 
ments, to  dine  there  on  Christmas  Day.  I told  her  I had  a 
wife,  and  must  needs  go  and  see  her.” 

1 His  eldest  daughter. 


CHAPTER  X 
1826-1827 

Return  of  the  “ White  Horse  ” from  Lisle.  Gold  Medal  voted  to 
Constable.  Letters  of  N.  Poussin.  Constable’s  Pictures  of  “ The 
Cornfield.”  Letter  from  Mr.  Phillips.  Mr.  Fisher’s  Description 
of  the  Valley  of  Sutton  and  Preston.  Anecdote  of  one  of  Mr. 
Fisher’s  Children.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy,  1826. 
Description  of  a ruined  Man.  Paul  Pry.  Ludicrous  Occurrence 
to  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet.  The  Brighton  Gazette.  “ The  Glebe 
Farm.”  Mr.  Fisher  and  Bishop  Burgess.  Northcote.  Picture 
by  Ruysdael.  Exhibition  at  the  Academy,  1827.  Constable 
removes  his  family  to  a House  in  Well  Walk,  Hampstead. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  January  14th,  1826.  My  dear  Fisher, 
I begin  this  hasty  note  by  wishing  you  a happy  new  year, 
hoping  Mrs.  Fisher  and  all  your  children  are  well,  and  bearing 
up  against  this,  to  me,  dreadful  weather.  All  my  family  are 
at  Brighton,  and  I left  them  well  on  Thursday.  I stayed 
a fortnight  with  them,  and  painted  there  one  of  my  best 
pictures,  the  subject,  the  ‘ Mill  (Perne’s)  at  Gillingham;  ’ it  is 
about  two  feet,  and  is  so  very  rich  and  pleasing  that  if  you 
are  at  Salisbury,  and  would  like  to  see  it,  I will  beg  the 
proprietor,  Mr.  Hand,  to  let  me  send  it  to  you ; Mere  Church 
is  in  the  distance.  ‘ The  White  Horse  ’ did  me  great  credit 
at  Lisle.  I am  honourably  mentioned  in  the  final  discourse 
of  the  prefect,  and  a gold  medal  was  voted  to  me,  which  I 
received  yesterday.  The  discourse  is  curious;  he  speaks  of 
the  ‘ raciness  and  originality  of  the  style,  which  being 
founded  entirely  in  nature,  is  capable  of  much  beauty,  but 
dangerous  to  all  imitators.’  So  far  the  Exhibition  has 
extended  my  reputation,  and  I trust  you  will  forgive  what  I 
did.  There  are  generally  among  the  works  of  an  artist,  one, 
two,  or  three  pictures,  on  which  hang  more  than  usual 
interest;  this  is  one  of  mine.  All  things  considered,  the 
medal  should  be  yours.  Much  pleasure  had  I at  Brighton, 
mixed  with  a sentiment  of  melancholy,  by  a book  in  French 
which  my  wife  read  to  me  while  I was  painting  the  ‘Mill;  ’ 
The  Letters  of  Nicolo  Poussin , now  first  published,  having 
hitherto  lain  undiscovered.  They  are  written  to  his  em- 

132 


“ The  Cornfield  ” 


J33 

ployers  in  Paris,  and  are  to  me  replete  with  interest.  My 
wife  has  discovered  that  painters  now  and  painters  then  are 
little  different.  The  letters  contain  apologies  to  friends  for 
not  finishing  their  pictures  sooner,  anxieties  of  all  kinds, 
insults  from  ignorance,  etc.;  one  of  them  speaks  of  £ strange 
news  from  England,  the  beheading  of  King  Charles,’  etc.  My 
•large  picture  is  at  a stand  owing  to  the  ruined  state  of  my 
finances.  You  richly  deserve  all  I think  of  you  for  your 
kindness  about  your  picture.  ...  I am  executing  all  my 
commissions,  amounting  in  all  to  four  hundred  pounds;  two 
months  will  complete  them.  J.  Dunthorne  is  painting  por- 
traits in  the  country.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  February  ist.  . . . My  dear  Fisher, 
Your  picture  is  now  standing  in  my  room,  and  without  a 
speck  of  injury;  do  not  hurry  its  departure.  All  this  morn- 
ing I have  been  engaged  with  a sitter;  a dissenter,  but 
without  knowing  why,  only  that  his  wife  will  not  let  him  go 
to  Church.” 

“ Osmington,  February  5th.  My  dear  Constable.  I plead 
guilty  to  neglect,  and  feel  much  humbled  by  the  forgiving 
tone  of  your  last  letter.  The  truth  is,  my  mind  has  been 
unusually  occupied  for  the  last  six  months.  I do  not  affect 
the  plea  that  I could  not  find  time,  but  I could  not  find  the 
disengaged  mind.  When  I write  to  you,  I do  it  with  all  my 
heart,  and  when  its  impulses  are  obstructed  with  care  or 
business,  I have  no  appetite  for  our  agreeable  correspondence. 
. . . Bishop  Burgess  has,  in  a most  flattering  manner,  rein- 
stated me  in  my  old  situation  as  chaplain,  and  I am  just 
where  I was  in  my  uncle’s  time.  This  is  a very  tall  feather 
in  my  cap,  and  I am  not  a little  elevated  by  it.  I sit  at  the 
bottom  of  the  old  table,  but,  I confess,  I painfully  miss  old 
faces.  ...  I shall  be  at  Salisbury  for  some  days  at  the  end 
of  this  month,  and  I should  like  much  to  have  Perne’s  mill 
there  to  look  at.  J.  Fisher.” 

Having  laid  aside  the  “ Waterloo,”  Constable  was  engaged 
on  a subject  more  congenial  to  his  taste,  “The  Cornfield,” 
now  in  the  National  Gallery.  It  had  been  seen  by  Mr* 
Phillips  of  Brighton,  who  suggested  some  materials  for  its 
foreground  in  a letter  of  which  the  following  is  a part: 
“ March  ist.  My  dear  Sir,  I think  it  is  July  in  your  green 
lane.  At  this  season  all  the  tall  grasses  are  in  flower,  bog- 
rush,  bullrush,  teasel.  The  white  bindweed  now  hangs  its 


Life  of  Constable 


1 34 

flowers  over  the  branches  of  the  hedge;  the  wild  carrot  and 
hemlock  flower  in  banks  of  hedges,  cow  parsley,  water  plan- 
tain, etc. ; the  heath  hills  are  purple  at  this  season ; the  rose- 
coloured  persicaria  in  wet  ditches  is  now  very  pretty;  the 
catchfly  graces  the  hedge-row,  as  also  the  ragged  robin; 
bramble  is  now  in  flower,  poppy,  mallow,  thistle,  hop,  etc.” 

“ April  8th.  My  dear  Fisher.  I should  not  have  remained 
so  long  silent  after  your  last  kind  and  friendly  letter,  had  I 
been  wholly  without  news  of  you  and  yours.  I am  glad  to 
find  from  my  friends  in  Seymour  Street  that  you  are  all 
well,  and  that  I may  expect  to  see  you  for  some  continuance 
of  time  in  London,  ‘ after  the  lilacs  have  blossomed  at 
Osmington.’ 

“ I will  endeavour  to  answer  your  letters  in  future,  but 
when  I write  to  you,  I am  always  full  of  myself,  which  is 
indeed  abominable;  but  you  must  thank  yourself  for  taking 
a greater  interest  in  all  that  concerns  me  than  any  other 
human  being.  ...  I have  despatched  a large  landscape  to 
the  Academy,  upright,  of  the  size  of  the  ‘ Lock,’  but  a subject 
of  a very  different  nature:  inland  corn  fields,  a close  lane 
forming  the  foreground;  it  is  not  neglected  in  any  part;  the 
trees  are  more  than  usually  studied,  the  extremities  well 
defined,  as  well  as  the  stems;  they  are  shaken  by  a pleasant 
and  healthful  breeze  at  noon: 

‘ while  now  a fresher  gale 

Sweeping  with  shadowy  gusts  the  fields  of  corn,’  etc. 

I am  not,  however,  without  my  anxieties,  though  I have  not 
neglected  my  work,  or  been  sparing  of  my  pains.  ...  I, 
at  this  moment,  hear  a rook  fly  over  my  painting-room,  in 
which  I am  writing;  its  call  transports  me  to  Osmington, 
and  makes  me  think  I am  speaking  and  not  writing  to  you; 
it  reminds  me  of  our  happy  walks  in  the  fields,  so  powerful 
is  the  voice  of  nature.  My  picture  occupied  me  wholly:  I 
could  think  of  and  speak  to  no  one.  I felt  like  a relation  of 
mine  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  He  said  he  ‘ dared  not  turn 
his  head  right  or  left,  but  always  kept  it  straight  forward, 
thinking  of  himself  alone.’  I hear  of  some  fine  pictures  that 
are  gone;  Callcott  has  three;  Ward,  a battle;  Collins’,  I 
hear,  are  very  fine,  but  I have  not  seen  them;  Lawrence  has 
but  one  whole  length,  Shee  only  one,  Jackson  but  one,  and 
Phillips  none,  so  there  will  be  a dearth  of  large  canvases.  I 


Valley  of  Sutton  and  Preston  135 

am  not  writing  in  the  best  of  spirits.  To-day  my  boy  has 
gone  to  Brighton  to  school;  John  Dunthorne  is  gone  with 
him.  I saw  him  as  far  as  Charing  Cross,  and  then  left  him 
to  his  fate.  I hope  for  the  best,  and  that  the  air  will  do  him 
good.  I am  much  worn,  having  worked  hard,  and  have  now 
the  consolation  of  knowing  I must  work  a great  deal  harder, 
or  go  to  the  workhouse;  I have  some  commissions,  however, 

and  I do  hope  to  sell  this  present  picture.  threatens 

me  with  having  to  paint  his  portrait: 

‘ Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  me ! ’ 

He  is  hospitable,  but  there  is  a coarseness  about  him  that  is 
intolerable.” 

“ To  Mr.  Samuel  Lane.  I am  just  returned  from  Suffolk. 
I left  London  by  the  mail  of  Wednesday  night  in  great 
anxiety  and  alarm  for  the  state  of  my  brother,  who  was 
suddenly  attacked  by  fever.  I returned  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing. He  was  better,  and  I hope  free  from  danger.  15th 
April.” 

“ Osmington,  April  22nd.  My  dear  Constable.  With  this 
I send  you  your  sketch  books,  so  long  detained.  But  they 
have  propagated  your  name  in  heavy  soils,  where  your 
pictures  would  never  have  taken  root.  My  wife,  to  save  the 
books  from  rubbing,  sends  some  little  memoranda  of  kindness 
to  our  god-children.  ...  I had  rather  see  you  here  than  in 
London;  this  is  a country  that  the  more  you  live  in  it,  the 
more  you  discover  its  beauties.  Did  you  ever  look  down 
the  little  wooded  valley  of  Sutton  and  Preston  from  the 
spring  heads  in  the  little  amphitheatre  formed  by  the  hills  ? 
It  has  a peep  of  the  blue  bay,  with  Portland  in  the  distance, 
and  two  old  forlorn  ash  trees  in  the  foreground;  the  place  is 
very  sequestered,  and  is  frequented  by  kingfishers  and  wood- 
cocks; but  fellows  from  Weymouth  with  padded  chests  and 
vacant  faces  come  there  and  let  off  guns,  and  disturb  the 
quiet  genius  of  the  place;  this  in  return  for  your  rook. 
When  your  pet,  Belim,1  repeats  his  Catechism,  we  cannot 
make  him  say  otherwise  than,  ‘ And  walk  in  the  same  fields 
all  the  days  of  my  life;  ’ he  might  have  a worse  idea  of 
happiness.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  April  26th.  My  dear  Fisher,  I received 
your  letter  and  the  books;  and  the  kind  recollections  of 
1 William. 


136  Life  of  Constable 

Mrs.  Fisher  and  yourself  towards  your  god-children  have 
afforded  me  great  pleasure.  I shall  proceed  to  answer  your 
letter.  First,  to  say  that  you  may  have  the  comfortable 
room  next  ours,  with  either  a feather-bed  or  mattress,  as  you 
please,  and  for  as  long  as  you  please.  Secondly,  the  spot 
you  speak  of,  I well  recollect,  is  lovely;  the  expanse  around, 
contrasted  with  the  deep  recesses  and  solitudes  below;  but 
in  general  these  subjects  deceive  on  canvas.  The  anecdote 
of  dear  Belim  is  very  pretty;  depend  on  it,  the  love  of  nature 
is  strongly  implanted  in  man.  I have  lately  been  into 
Suffolk,  and  have  had  some  delightful  walks  ‘ in  the  same 
fields’  Bless  the  dear  boy!  our  ideas  of  happiness  are  the 
same,  and  I join  with  you  in  praying  that  he  may  never  seek 
it  in  less  hallowed  places. 

“ When  my  mind  is  disturbed  it  stirs  up  the  mud.  How 
could  circumstances  ever  place  me  in  such  a situation  as  to 
write  so  much  stuff  to  an  Archdeacon  ! 1 

“ I am  now  busy  at  the  Academy,  and  am  writing  early, 
as-’  after  breakfast  I must  be  there.  My  wife  is  very  good, 
and  is  at  the  breakfast- table  by  eight;  she  is  now  there,  and 
as  I have  much  to  do,  I will  put  this  letter  into  my  pocket, 
and  finish  it  at  Somerset  House.  It  is  quite  out  of  my  power 
to  describe  the  scene  of  dismay  and  desolation  the  rooms 
present.  I could  quote  Dante  and  Milton: 

‘ Dire  was  the  tossing,’  etc. 

but  it  is  a delightful  show.  Turner  never  gave  me  so  much 
pleasure  or  so  much  pain  before.  Callcott  has  a fine  picture 
of  a picturesque  boat  driven  before  the  wind  on  a stormy  sea; 
it  is  simple,  grand,  and  affecting.  He  has  another  large 
work,  not  so  good,  rather  too  quakerish,  as  Turner  is  too 
yellow;  but  every  man  who  distinguishes  himself  stands  on 
a precipice.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence’s  portraits  of  Peel  and 
Canning  are  very  fine.  He  has  a lady  playing  on  a guitar 
hanging  by  Turner,  and  you  seem  to  hear  its  imperfect 
sounds  over  his  ‘ wide  watered  shore.’  ‘ Canning  ’ is  over 
the  fireplace,  ‘ An  Entombment  ’ by  Westall  at  the  bottom 
of  the  room,  and  E tty’s  ‘ Judgment  of  Paris,’  on  the  west 
side  centre;  the  details  of  this  show  we  shall  soon  analyse 

1 Constable  here  alludes  to  parts  of  his  correspondence  with  Mr. 
Fisher  relating  to  a third  person,  and  which  for  that  reason  are  not 
published. 


Illness  of  Mr.  Bicknell  137 

together.  Chan  trey  loves  painting,  and  is  always  upstairs. 
He  works  now  and  then  on  my  pictures,  and  yesterday  he 
joined  our  group,  and  after  exhausting  his  jokes  on  my 
landscape,  he  took  up  a dirty  palette,  threw  it  at  me,  and 
was  off.  Presently  he  came  back  and  asked  me  if  I had 

seen  a beastly  landscape  by  . It  is  so  indeed.  The 

voice  in  my  favour  is  universal,  it  is  my  ‘ best  picture.’ 

“ has  some  of  his  heartless  atrocious  landscapes  in 

Seymour  Street,  and  has  sent  to  consult  me  on  them.  How 
shall  I get  out  of  such  an  infernal  scrape?  Truth  is  out  of 
the  question.  What  part  can  I then  play?  ” 

Constable  exhibited,  with  “ The  Cornfield,”  a smaller 
landscape,  but  I do  not  remember  the  subject. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  July  7th.  My  dear  Fisher.  You  will 
receive  Dunthorne’s  Wilsons  to-morrow;  Mrs.  Fisher  cannot 
fail  to  be  pleased  with  them. — I have  added  a little  to  your 
batch  of  Waterloos,  making,  I think,  a nice  bargain  for  ten 
guineas.  Have  you  done  anything  to  your  walls  ? they  were 
of  a colour  formed  to  destroy  every  valuable  tint  in  a picture. 
. . . A poor  wretched  man  called  to  see  me  this  morning; 
he  had  a petition  to  the  Royal  Academy  for  charitable 

assistance : it  was . His  appearance  was  distress  itself, 

and  it  was  awful  to  behold  to  what  ill-conduct  may  bring  us ; 
yet  calamity  has  impressed  even  on  this  man  an  air  of  dignity; 
he  looked  like  Leslie’s  Don  Quixote.  When  I knew  him  at 
the  bishop’s  he  wore  powder,  had  a soft  subdued  voice,  and 
always  a smile,  which  caused  him  to  show  some  decayed 
teeth,  and  he  carried  a gold-headed  cane  with  tassels.  Now, 
how  changed!  his  neck  long,  with  a large  head,  thin  face, 
nose  long,  mouth  wide,  eyes  dark  and  sunken,  eyebrows 
lifted,  hair  abundant,  straight,  erect,  and  very  greasy;  his 
body  much  emaciated  and  shrunk  away  from  his  dismal 
black  clothes,  and  his  left  arm  in  a sling  from  a fall,  by  which 
he  broke  the  left  clavicle;  I shall  try  the  Artist’s  Fund  for 
him.  I cannot  efface  the  image  of  this  ghostly  man  from 
my  mind.  . . . Poor  Mr.  Bicknell  is  in  a sad  state;  he  had 
an  attack  of  apoplexy  about  ten  days  ago;  it  was  coming 
on  when  you  saw  him.  ...  I have  made  several  visits 
to  the  terrace  at  Lord  Pembroke’s;  it  was  the  spot  of  all 
others  to  which  I wanted  to  have  access.1  I have  added 

1 Part  of  Lord  Pembroke’s  house  and  terrace  form  the  nearest  objects 
in  the  picture  of  “ The  Opening  of  Waterloo  Bridge.” 


Life  of  Constable 


!38 

two  feet  to  my  canvas.  My  wife  and  all  here  are  well. 
I trust  we  shall  not  need  a country  excursion,  in  which  we 
leave  this  convenient  house,  and  pay  four  guineas  a week 
for  the  privilege  of  sleeping  in  a hen-coop,  for  the  sake  of 
country  air.” 

“ September.  My  dear  Leslie,  On  returning  to  town  this 
morning,  and  once  more  perusing  your  note,  I find  myself 
quite  mistaken.  I had  missed  the  date,  and  consequently 
missed  ‘ Paul  Pry,’  a serious  loss  to  me;  but  the  word  * to- 
morrow,’ instead  of  naming  the  precise  day,  often  leads  to 
such  mistakes  on  the  side  of  the  reader,  the  writer  being  fully 
aware  of  what  he  means ; but  it  is  my  loss,  and  I assure  you 
I had  not  a little  reckoned  on  seeing  such  a master  of  humour, 
in  company  with  yourself.  I write  in  the  forlorn  hope  that 
possibly  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  did  not  go.” 

Few  persons  more  thoroughly  relished  good  acting  than 
did  Constable,  when  he  could  be  prevailed  on  to  witness  it. 
Yet  so  seldom  did  he  visit  the  theatres,  that  he  never  saw 
either  Kean  or  Liston,  though  I had  several  times  proposed 
to  accompany  him  when  those  great  masters  of  their  art 
were  to  perform. 

I have  heard  him  give  a ludicrous  account  of  an  accident 
that  happened  during  one  of  the  few  visits  he  ever  paid  to  a 
theatre.  The  play  was  “ Hamlet,”  and  the  ghost,  from 
some  derangement  of  the  machinery,  stopped  in  his  descent, 
and  remained  for  a considerable  time  presenting  a half- 
length  figure,  shaken  occasionally  by  the  efforts  of  the 
carpenters  to  complete  his  exit,  which  was  at  length  accom- 
plished more  rapidly  than  was  desirable,  amidst  roars  of 
applause.  Constable  happened  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance some  years  afterwards  to  his  neighbour,  Mr.  Pope, 
adding,  “ I shall  never  forget  it,”  when  the  latter  said, 
“ Neither  shall  I,  for  I was  that  unlucky  ghost.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  September  9th.  My  dear  Fisher,  It  is 
a very  long  time  since  I have  heard  from  you,  and  I have 
now  no  means  of  hearing  of  you  elsewhere.  Let  me  have  a 
line  soon  to  dispel  the  thought  that  anything  may  be  amiss, 
or  any  part  of  your  family  out  of  health.  Y ou  once  said  ‘ life 
is  short,’  let  us  make  the  most  of  friendship  while  we  can. 
I have  little  to  say  of  what  belongs  to  myself,  but  that  little 
is  good.  My  children  are  well,  and  my  wife,  for  her,  very 
tolerable;  they  are  in  a small  house  on  Downshire  Hill,  to 


“ The  Glebe  Farm  ” 139 

which  it  is  an  easy  walk  from  home.  I have  just  come  back 
from  a day  or  two  at  Brighton,  where  I had  been  to  return 
my  boy  to  Mr.  Phillips.  John  Dunthome  is  still  in  Suffolk 
very  busy;  his  last  job  is  a large  sign  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough. I have  written  to  hasten  him;  he  is  wanted  here 
by  myself  and  others.  My  last  landscape  is  a cottage  scene 
with  the  Church  of  Langham,  the  poor  bishop’s  first  living; 
it  is  one  of  my  best  in  colour,  fresh  and  bright,  and  I have 
pacified  it  into  tone  and  solemnity.  My  friend  Mr.  Phillips 
is  commencing  a literary  journal  at  Brighton:  he  wants  me 
to  contribute  some  paper  on  Art,  landscape,  of  course.  What 
do  you  say?  . . . Rochefoucault  says,  ‘ Lovers  are  never 
tired  of  each  other’s  company,  because  they  always  talk  of 
themselves.’  ” 

The  cottage  with  Langham  Church  was  a pet  subject 
with  Constable;  he  repeated  it  frequently,  and  left  one  or 
two  unfinished  pictures  and  sketches  of  it  with  considerable 
variations.  His  best  picture  of  this  pretty  subject,  and  one 
of  his  most  perfect  works,  is  that  from  which  the  engraving 
in  the  English  Landscape,  with  the  title  of  “ The  Glebe 
Farm  ” is  taken.  The  rising  ground  and  trees  on  the  right 
hand  are  imaginary,  as  the  ground,  in  reality,  descends 
rather  steeply  on  that  side  of  the  church. 

“ Close,  Salisbury,  July  1st.  My  dear  Constable.  The 
two  pictures  arrived  safe  on  Friday,  and  within  an  hour 
were  up  in  their  places ; ‘ The  White  Horse  ’ looking  very 
placid,  and  not  as  if  just  returned  from  the  Continent.  It 
is  wonderfully  improved  by  Dunthome’s  coat  of  varnish. 
The  ‘ Cathedral  ’ looks  splendidly  over  the  chimney-piece. 
The  picture  requires  a room  full  of  light.  Its  internal 
splendour  comes  out  in  all  its  power,  and  the  spire  sails  away 
with  the  thunder-clouds.” 

“ Maidenhead,  September  27th.  My  dear  Constable. 
Do  not  accuse  me  of  neglect.  You  were  never  more  occu- 
pied in  the  month  of  April  preparing  for  the  Exhibition, 
thin  I have  been  since  the  month  of  August.  Last  week 
there  was  an  ordination,  and  I preached  the  sermon  which 
you  will  soon  see  in  print.  ...  I write  this  sitting  in 
commission  upon  a dispute  between  a clergyman  and  his 
parishioners,  and  compose  while  the  parties  argue.  There  is 
a brother  parson  arguing  his  own  case,  with  powder,  white 
forehead,  and  a very  red  face,  like  a copper  vessel  newly 


Life  of  Constable 


140 

tinned.  He  is  mixing  up,  in  a tremulous  tone,  with  an  eager 
blood-shot  eye,  accusations,  — apologies,  — statements,  — 
reservations, — and  appeals,  till  his  voice  sounds  on  my  ear, 
as  I write,  like  a distant  waterfall.  . . . 

“ I am  doubtful  about  your  Brighton  Gazette.  You  are 
in  possession  of  some  very  valuable  and  original  matter 
on  the  subject  of  painting,  particularly  on  the  poetry  of  the 
art.  I should  be  sorry  to  see  this  seed  sown  on  an  unvisited 
field,  where  it  would  blossom  in  forgetfulness,  while  some 
thriving  author,  like  a sparrow,  would  fly  off  with  a sample, 
and  take  the  credit  from  you.  Throw  your  thoughts 
together  as  they  arise  in  a book,  that  they  be  not  lost;  when 
I come  to  see  you,  we  will  look  them  over,  put  them  into 
shape,  and  do  something  with  them.  Pray  do  not  forget  to 
put  together  the  history  of  your  life  and  opinions,  with  as 
many  remarks  on  men  and  manners  as  may  occur  to  you. 
Set  about  it  immediately ; life  slips.  It  will  perhaps  bring 
your  children  in  a hundred  pounds  in  a day  of  short  com- 
mons, if  it  does  nothing  else;  besides,  I have  been  all  along 
desirous  of  writing  your  life  and  rise  in  the  art.  . . . 

“ I live  with  the  new  bishop  as  son  with  father,  or  brother 
with  brother.  Our  habits  of  life  similar,  our  pursuits 
similar,  our  modes  of  thought  similar,  or  only  sufficiently 
different  to  increase  the  pleasure  of  communication.  ...  I 
have  been  unconsciously  acquiring,  at  Osmington,  in  long 
winter  evenings,  a greater  share  of  knowledge  than  I was 
myself  aware  of;  and  find  that  I have  no  reason  to  be  dis- 
contented with  the  use  I have  made  of  my  time.  The 
bishop  improves  me  and  drives  me  on  in  my  classical  acquire- 
ments; while  in  general  divinity  and  comprehensive  views 
of  history  I find  myself  ‘ in  easy  circumstances/  He  is 
urging  me  to  overcome  my  indolence  and  show  myself  in 
print,  and  before  I die  I shall  be  out.  I have  got  my  nerves 
steadier,  and  my  understanding  more  under  my  control. 
My  ambition  is  strongly  awakened,  and  I see  glimpses  of 
light  through  the  wood.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  November  28th.  My  dear  Fisher, 
The  rumour  may  have  reached  you  that  I have  another  boy; 
the  number  of  my  children  is  now  six,  being  three  of  each. 

“ I gloried  in  your  letter.  Its  friendship  for  me  was,  if 
possible,  forgot  in  the  delight  of  seeing  you  at  length  properly 
appreciating  yourself.  You  need  never  fear  indulging  too 


A Picture  by  Ruysdael  14 1 

much  in  the  exulting  tone  it  breathes.  Take  care  that  you 
launch  your  boat  at  the  appointed  time,  and  fearlessly 
appear  before  the  world  in  a tangible  shape.  It  is  the  only 
way  to  be  cured  of  idle  vapours  and  useless  fastidiousness. 

“ My  wife  is  at  Hampstead,  and  both  she  and  the  infant  are 
doing  well.  I am  endeavouring  to  secure  a permanent  small 
house  there,  and  have  put  the  upper  part  of  this  house  into  an 
upholsterer’s  hands  to  let,  made  my  painting  room  warm  and 
comfortable,  and  have  become  an  inhabitant  of  my  parlours. 
I am  three  miles  from  door  to  door,  and  can  have  a message  in 
an  hour.  I shall  be  more  out  of  the  way  of  idle  callers,  and 
above  all,  see  nature,  and  unite  a town  and  country  life,  and 
to  all  these  things  I hope  to  add  a plan  of  economy.  . . . 

“ I passed  last  evening  with  Northcote;  he  enjoys  a green 
old  age,  and  is  as  full  of  vivacity  as  ever;  he  is  always 
instructive  and  amusing.  Talking  of  excellence,  he  said, 
‘ It  should  be  the  aim  of  an  artist  to  bring  something  to 
light  out  of  nature  for  the  first  time.  Something  like  that 
for  which  in  mechanics  a patent  would  be  granted;  an 
original  invention  or  a decided  improvement;  patents  are 
not  given  for  making  a time-piece  or  a telescope,  as  long  as 
it  differs  not  from  others.’  He  says,  ‘ The  failures,  and 
difficulties  of  success,  in  the  arts  and  literature  are  for  the 
most  part  caused  by  our  early  habits  and  education.  Virgil 
is  driven  into  boys  as  the  height  of  excellence,  whereas  he 
is  but  a farthing  candle  compared  with  Shakespeare.’  The 
first  book  he  (Northcote)  ever  read  was  4 Jack  the  Giant- 
killer,’  and  he  still  believes  it  unequalled. 

“ I have  taken  your  advice,  and  not  written  anything  for 
the  Brighton  Courier. — I have  seen  an  affecting  picture 
this  morning  by  Ruysdael;  it  haunts  my  mind,  and  clings 
to  my  heart,  and  stands  between  you  and  me  while  I am 
talking  to  you ; it  is  a water-mill ; a man  and  boy  are  cutting 
rushes  in  the  running  stream  (the  tail- water);  the  whole  so 
true,  clear,  and  fresh,  and  as  brisk  as  champagne;  a shower 
has  not  long  passed. — I am  delighted  to  see  how  you  live  with 
the  bishop;  that  you  avail  yourself  of  his  great  worth  and 
understanding,  and  that  he  does  not  use  his  rank  nor  the 
wisdom  of  age,  to  trip  up  and  overbear  the  valuable  qualities, 
the  vigour  and  energy,  to  be  found  in  youth  and  middle  age.” 

In  1827  Constable  sent  to  the  Academy  a large  picture 
of  “ The  Marine  Parade  and  Chain  Pier  at  Brighton,”  and 


Life  of  Constable 


142 

two  smaller  ones,  “ A Water  Mill  at  Gillingham,  Dorset- 
shire,’5 and  “ Hampstead  Heath.”  To  the  British  Institution 
he  sent  his  “ Cornfield,”  and  “ The  Glebe  Farm.” 

“ Sunday  Evening,  August  26th.  My  dear  Fisher,  We 
sadly  neglect  much  happiness  that  lies  within  our  reach. 
Weeks  and  months  have  passed  since  we  met,  and  no  com- 
munication. I know  not  where  you  are,  and  you  know  not 
what  I have  been  so  long  about.  Your  cares  lay  far  and 
wide  apart,  and  I am  not  wholly  without  mine.  Still  we 
do  amiss  to  remain  inactive  towards  each  other  for  both  our 
sakes.  No  worse  account  can  be  given  of  life  than  to  have 
neglected  the  social  duties.  ...  We  are  at  length  fixed 
in  our  comfortable  little  house  in  Well  Walk,  Hampstead, 
and  are  once  more  enjoying  our  own  furniture,  and  sleeping 
in  our  own  beds.  My  plans  in  search  of  health  for  my  family 
have  been  ruinous ; but  I hope  now  that  our  movable  camp 
no  longer  exists,  and  that  I am  settled  for  life.  So  hateful 
is  moving  about  to  me,  that  I could  gladly  exclaim,  ‘ Here 
let  me  take  my  everlasting  rest ! 5 The  rent  of  this  house 
is  fifty-two  pounds  per  annum,  taxes  twenty-five,  and  what 
I have  spent  on  it,  ten  or  fifteen.  I have  let  Charlotte  Street 
at  eighty-two  pounds,  retaining  my  two  parlours,  large  front 
attic,  painting-room,  gallery,  etc.  This  house  is  to  my 
wife’s  heart’s  content;  it  is  situated  on  an  eminence  at  the 
back  of  the  spot  in  which  you  saw  us,  and  our  little  drawing- 
room commands  a view  unsurpassed  in  Europe,  from  West- 
minster Abbey  to  Gravesend.  The  dome  of  St.  Paul’s  in  the 
air  seems  to  realise  Michael  Angelo’s  words  on  seeing  the 
Pantheon:  1 1 will  build  such  a thing  in  the  sky.’  We  see 
the  woods  and  lofty  grounds  of  the  East  Saxons  to  the  north- 
east. I read  Turner’s  History  continually,  for  two  reasons: 
first,  I think  thereby  of  you,  and  secondly,  its  information  is 
endless,  and  of  the  best  kind.  I have  Burnet’s  book  on 
colour  for  you  from  Carpenter’s;  where  shall  I send  it,  or 
shall  I meet  you  at  Sarum  during  your  durance,  and  make 
a few  autumnal  sketches  on  spots  endeared  to  us  both?  My 
‘ Brighton  ’ was  admired  on  the  walls,  and  I had  a few 
nibbles  out  of  doors.  I had  one  letter  drom  a man  of  rank, 
inquiring  what  would  be  £ its  selling  price ; ’ is  not  this  too 
bad?  but  this  comes  of  the  bartering  at  the  Gallery.  My 

Dr.1  has  paid,  but  nothing  more;  no  one  will  buy 

1 An  engraving  from  one  of  his  portraits. 


Lord  De  Tabley’s  Pictures  143 

a schoolmaster,  for  who  would  hang  up  a picture  of  the 
keeper  of  a treadmill,  or  a turnkey  of  Newgate,  who  had 
been  in  either  place?  Mr.  Bannister  is  my  neighbour  here; 
a very  fine  creature  he  is;  very  sensible,  natural,  and  a 
gentleman. 

“ Lord  De  Tabley’s  English  pictures  have  lately  sold  for 
eight  thousand  pounds;  two  thousand  more  than  he  gave 
for  them:  a landscape  by  Wilson,  five  hundred  pounds; 

query,  had  he  fifty  for  this  truly  magnificent  and  affecting 
picture?  ‘May  this  expiate!’  John  Dunthorne  has  com- 
pleted a very  pretty  view  of  your  lawn  and  prebendal  house, 
with  the  great  alder  and  the  cathedral.  He  is  now  in 
Suffolk,  painting  a portrait  of , whose  ugliness  is  por- 

tentous; how  John  will  get  on  with  him  I know  not.  We 
long  to  hear  news  of  you  and  Mrs.  Fisher  and  your  children. 
We  are  well  here.  My  pretty  infant  soon  after  you  saw  him 
was  seized  with  whooping-cough.  I find  medical  men  know 
nothing  of  this  terrible  disorder,  and  can  afford  it  no  relief, 
consequently  it  is  in  the  hands  of  quacks.  I have  been 
advised  to  put  him  three  times  over  and  three  times  under 
a donkey , as  a certain  cure.  ...  I have  painted  one  of  my 
best  pictures  here.” 

“ Close,  Salisbury,  September  3rd.  My  dear  Constable, 
...  I am  elected  a member  of  the  Royal  Literary  Society, 
and  must  appear  in  London,  in  December,  to  be  installed. 
I shall  then  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you  at  the  bottom 
of  Well  Walk.  The  arrangement  is  good  in  one  particular. 
You  will  be  less  disturbed  by  morning  flies  than  in  Charlotte 
Street.  ...  I am  worn  to  death  with  the  incessant  visiting 
of  the  same  persons,  and  the  same  prate  of  this  busy-idle 
place.  The  whole  of  the  diocese  is  on  my  hands,  I educate 
my  own  boys,  and  there  you  have  sufficient  reasons  why  I 
write  so  seldom.  T.  Fisher.” 

Constable  passed  the  remainder  of  this  year  happily  with 
his  family  at  Hampstead,  where  he  painted  several  small 
landscapes. 


CHAPTER  XI 
1828-1829 

Illness  of  Mr.  Abram  Constable,  and  of  Mrs.  Constable.  Birth  of 
Constable’s  youngest  Child.  Pictures  of  “ Dedham  Vale,”  and  of 
“ Hampstead  Heath.”  Death  of  Mr.  Bicknell.  His  Bequest  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Constable.  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy,  1828. 
Death  of  Archdeacon  Coxe.  Illness  of  Mrs.  Constable’.  Her 
Death.  Constable  ill.  Receives  a commission  to  paint  a Sign. 
Elected  an  Academician,  1829.  Congratulations  from  some  of  his 
Friends.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  and  Constable.  Picture  of  Had- 
leigh  Castle.  Constable  engaged  in  preparing  the  English 
Landscape  for  publication.  Mr.  David  Lucas. 

In  the  spring  of  1828,  Constable  was  called  to  Flatford  by 
an  illness  of  his  brother  Abram,  Mrs.  Constable  being  at  the 
same  time  extremely  unwell. 

The  following  note  to  Mr.  Samuel  Lane  must  have  been 
written  at  this  time.  “ My  dear  Lane,  I am  glad  to  hear  of 
your  return.  I hope  we  shall  meet  soon.  My  poor  wife  is 
still  very  ill  at  Putney,  and  when  I can  get  her  home  I know 
not.  We  talk  of  Brighton,  but  we  only  talk  of  it.  She  can’t 
make  such  a journey.  I am  glad  to  remain  quiet  at  my  work, 
as  I want  to  rid  my  mind  of  some  troublesome  jobs.  I am 
just  returned  from  Suffolk,  where  I was  again  called  to  see 
my  brother,  but  I left  him  so  much  better  that  I am  cheered. 

I advised  him  to  send  away  all  his  doctors.  They  have  left 
him  in  possession  of  his  purse  only, — now  empty, — and  of 
himself,  only  his  skeleton.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  June  nth.  My  dear  Fisher,  Is  it 
possible  that  I should  have  had  little  or  no  tidings  of  you 
since  we  parted  in  November?  We  do  sad  injustice  to  our 
friendship.  This  silence  is  a bad  thing,  and  I am  determined 
not  to  let  this  (my  birthday)  pass  without  emancipating 
myself  from  what  appears  almost  a spell,  for  I never  felt  a 
greater  desire  to  write,  nor  ever  had  in  reality  more  to  say  to 
you,  at  least  of  myself,  than  now.  This  has  been  to  me  a most 
eventful  year,  for  half  of  it  has  not  yet  passed,  and  three 
things  of  moment  to  myself  have  occurred:  first,  the  birth 
of  a baby  boy,  whom  we  have  named  Lionel  Bicknell,  2nd  of 

144 


Mr.  Bicknell’s  Bequest  145 

January:  secondly,  I have  painted  a large  upright  landscape, 
perhaps  my  best;  it  is  in  the  Exhibition,  and  noticed  as  ‘ a 
redeemer  ’ by  John  Bull , and  another,  less  in  size  but  equal 
in  quality,  purchased  by  Chantrey : thirdly,  and  lastly,  though 
not  least , Mr.  Bicknell  has  left  us  a fortune  that  may  be 
£ 20,000 ! — This  I will  settle  on  my  wife  and  children,  that  I 
may  do  justice  to  his  good  opinion  of  me.  It  will  make  me 
happy,  and  I shall  stand  before  a six-foot  canvas  with  a 
mind  at  ease,  thank  God ! 

“ The  Exhibited  is  poor;  but  though  the  talent  is  small, 
its  produce  in  money  has  been  very  great;  £150  per  diem, 
perhaps,  on  an  average.  I have  little  time  to  speak  of  it. 
Lawrence  has  many  pictures,  and  never  has  his  elegant 
affettuosa  style  been  more  happy.  Jackson  is  the  most  of  a 
painter,  but  he  does  not  rank  with  Lawrence  in  general 
talent.  Turner  has  some  golden  visions,  glorious  and 
beautiful;  they  are  only  visions,  but  still  they  are  art,  and 
one  could  live  and  die  with  such  pictures.  Some  portraits 
that  would  petrify  you.  Newton  has  ‘ The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field,’ most  affecting.  . . . 

“ My  wife  is  sadly  ill  at  Brighton;  her  letter  to-day  is 
however  cheerful.  Hampstead,  sweet  Hampstead,  is  de- 
serted. I am  at  work  here,  and  shall  take  my  boy  and 
pretty  Minna  to  Brighton  on  the  20th.” 

The  upright  picture  mentioned  in  this  letter  was  a view 
of  “ Dedham  Vale,”  and  the  small  one,  the  “ Hampstead 
Heath.” 

“ Salisbury,  June  19th.  My  dear  Constable.  . . . Your 
legacy  gave  me  as  much  pleasure  as  it  could  have  communi- 
cated to  yourself.  You  will  now  be  relieved  from  the  carking 
cares  of  leaving  a young  family  to  privation  and  the  world. 
You  will  feel  that  your  fame  and  not  your  bread  is  dependent 
upon  your  pencil.  . . . Mr.  Bicknell  has  paid  you  a high 
moral  compliment.  . . . My  plan  of  provision  is  to  leave  a 
home,  and  bread  to  eat,  round  which  the  weak  and  unsuccess- 
ful of  my  family  may  rally.  Perhaps  this  should  be  your  plan. 

“ Poor  Coxe,  as  you  probably  know  from  Peter,  is  no  more. 
He  died  of  old  age. — A more  irreproachable,  friendly  man 
did  not  exist.  He  was  always  benevolently  employed,  and 
at  his  funeral,  the  congregation  disturbed  the  service  with 
sobs.  After  a great  dinner,  he  used  to  steal  into  his  kitchen 
and  give  his  cook  a guinea.  His  domestics  never  left  him. 

K 


Life  of  Constable 


146 

A silent  but  strong  compliment.  His  regard  to  truth  was 
remarkable.  He  is  the  author  of  twenty-four  quarto  volumes, 
and  has  hardly  been  convicted  of  a mistake.  He  was  quoted 
as  an  authority  in  his  lifetime,  an  event  of  rare  occurrence. 
. . . J.  Fisher.” 

Constable  returned  with  his  wife  to  Hampstead,  from 
whence  he  wrote  on  the  22nd  of  August  to  John  Dunthorne, 
Jun.,  who  was  at  Bergholt,  “I  do  hope  things  are  not  going 
on  worse  here.  On  the  contrary,  I believe  Mrs.  Constable  to 
be  gaining  ground.  Her  cough  is  pretty  well  gone  and  she 
has  some  appetite,  and  the  nightly  perspirations  are,  in  a great 
measure,  ceased.  All  this  must  be  good,  and  I am  a great 
deal  cheered.  Still  I am  anxious, — she  is  so  sadly  thin  and 
weak.  I am  determined  to  try  and  get  her  out.  . . . The 
Neyland  business  can  soon  be  decided  upon.1  1 hope  you 
will  do  it,  but  only  in  conjunction  with  your  father.  I think 
it  requires  not  a moment’s  hesitation.  Take  care  of  cold. 
Work  with  the  door  and  windows  of  the  church  open,  even 
if  that  should  make  it  colder.  It  will  drive  out  damp  and 
smell  of  graves,  etc.  Nothing  so  bad  as  the  air  of  a large 
apartment,  as  it  never  changes  itself,  and  it  always  flies  to  the 
heart,  liver,  and  lights.  I was  nearly  killed,  copying  Sir 
Joshua,  at  Lady  Dysart’s,  Hyde  Park  Corner.  . . . Re- 
member Claude  painted  sham  architecture  in  churches,  and 
it  did  not  prevent  his  becoming  a painter.  But  he  fell  off  a 
scaffold.” 

In  a letter  to  Mr.  Dominic  Colnaghi,  dated  September  15th, 
Constable  writes:  “ I am  greatly  unhappy  at  my  dear  wife’s 
illness;  her  progress  towards  amendment  is  sadly  slow,  but 
still  they  tell  me  she  does  mend;  pray  God  this  may  be  the 
case!  I am  much  worn  with  anxiety.”  And  in  a note  to 
Mr.  S.  Lane,  dated  October  2nd,  he  says:  “ . . . My  dear 
wife  continues  much  the  same;  I do  hope  she  is  not  worse, 
and  home  may  yet  do  wonders.” 

The  letter,  to  which  the  following  is  a reply,  is  missing.  It, 
no  doubt,  contained  a desponding  account  of  the  state  of  Mrs. 
Constable’s  health.  “ Close,  Salisbury,  October  4th.  My 
dear  Constable,  Your  sad  letter  has  just  reached  me,  and  I 
grieve  to  say,  at  a time  when  I fear  I cannot  move.  I am 
expecting  to  be  called  into  residence  at  this  place,  when  I 

1 This  seems  to  have  been  that  John  Dunthorne  should  paint  some 
ornamental  work  in  the  interior  of  Neyland  Church. 


Death  of  Mrs.  Constable 


H7 

must  be  a fixture  until  January.  But  if  this  be  not  the  case, 
and  I can  get  my  liberty,  I will  come  and  see  you  soon.  I 
fear  your  friendship  makes  you  overvalue  the  use  I can  be  of 
to  you;  but  what  I can  give,  you  shall  have.  ...  I began 
this  letter  at  Salisbury  and  I finish  it  at  Osmington,  and 
to-morrow  I start  for  Salisbury  again.  Support  yourself 
with  your  usual  manliness,  and  believe  me  always  your  most 
faithful  and  attached,  John  Fisher.” 

Mrs.  Constable’s  sufferings,  which  she  endured  with  that 
entire  resignation  to  the  will  of  Providence  that  she  had 
shown  under  every  circumstance  of  her  life,  were  occasioned 
by  pulmonary  consumption.  I was  at  Hampstead  a few 
days  before  she  breathed  her  last.  She  was  then  on  a sofa 
in  their  cheerful  parlour,  and  although  Constable  appeared 
in  his  usual  spirits  in  her  presence,  yet  before  I left  the  house, 
he  took  me  into  another  room,  wrung  my  hand,  and  burst 
into  tears,  without  speaking.  She  died  on  the  23rd  of 
November. 

“ Osmington,  Weymouth,  November  29th.  My  dear  Con- 
stable, I write  with  the  hope  and  intention  of  giving  you 
comfort,  but  really  I know  not  how ; yet  if  there  be  any  con- 
solation to  the  heart  of  man  to  know  that  another  feels  with 
him,  you  have  that  consolation.  I do  sympathise  with  you, 
my  old  and  dear  friend,  most  truly,  and  I pray  God  to  give 
you  fortitude.  I am  additionally  grieved  that  I cannot  come 
and  say  this  in  person,  but  I am  so  entangled  with  my  family 
and  numerous  affairs,  that  I cannot  reach  London  until 
December.  Our  new  but  estimable  friend,  Evans,1  paid  me 
a most  flattering  visit.  He  travelled  one  hundred  miles  out 
of  his  way  to  come  and  see  me  in  my  Arcadia  for  twelve 
hours  only.  He  arrived  over  night,  and  left  me  next  day 
at  noon;  we  had  time,  however,  to  exchange  a great  deal  of 
mind.  Our  conversation  turned,  of  course,  much  upon  you; 
we  agreed  that  for  your  comfort,  during  the  trial  upon  you 
for  the  exercise  of  your  patience,  you  should  apply  yourself 
rigidly  to  your  profession.  Some  of  the  finest  works  of  art, 
and  most  vigorous  exertions  of  intellect,  have  been  the  result 
of  periods  of  distress.  Poor  Wilson  painted  all  his  finest 
landscapes  under  the  pressure  of  sorrow. 

“ Let  us  talk  of  other  things.  I met  in  Schlegel  a happy 

1 Mr.  Evans  of  Hampstead  was  the  medical  friend  who  had  attended 
Mrs.  Constable. 


148  Life  of  Constable 

criticism  on  what  is  called  Gothic  architecture.  We  do  not 
estimate  it  aright  unless  we  judge  of  it  by  the  spirit  of  the 
age  which  produced  it,  and  compare  it  with  contemporary 
productions.  The  Gothic  Minster  was  the  work  which  gave 
birth  to  that  phenomenon,  the  Crusades,  and  realised  that 
poetical  beautiful  monster,  the  mailed  knight,  who  went  forth 
in  purity  and  honour  to  preach  the  Gospel  with  his  mouth, 
while  he  broke  its  laws  with  his  sword.  The  Minster  was 
raised  to  hold  such  worshippers  while  alive,  and  to  contain 
their  gorgeous  tombs  when  dead ; and  we  never  look  at  the 
Cathedral  aright,  unless  we  imagine  mitred  abbots  and 
knights  in  chained  armour,  walking  in  procession  down  its 
solemn  aisles.  I have  put  Schlegel  into  our  own  language, 
and  have  enlarged  a little  on  his  notion,  since  he  only  hints 
the  thing.  What  a propriety  it  gives  to  the  tombs  of  the 
cross-legged  knights ! The  monkish  priests  exacted  the 
tribute  of  putting  off  the  knightly  spur  when  the  Cathedral 
was  entered.  Our  choristers  fine  anybody  at  this  day  coming 
in  with  spurs. — I do  not  know  what  to  go  on  writing  to  you 
about.  I live  here  apart  from  the  world,  and  run  into  con- 
templative habits.  Socrates  considered  life  only  as  a malady 
under  which  the  nobler  spirit  was  condemned  for  a time  to 
linger,  and  called  living,  ‘ the  learning  how  to  die; 5 he 
meant  that  the  vexations  of  life  render  death  desirable.  The 
word  malady  explains  the  cock  sacrificed  to  iEsculapius; 
death  was  curing  him  of  his  malady,  and  he  sacrificed  the 
fowl,  in  playful  allusion  to  this,  to  the  god  of  physic.  It  is 
singular,  but  this  notion  has  much  helped  me  under  some 
very  vexatious  circumstances.  Christianity  puts  the  argu- 
ment higher,  and  makes  the  malady  preparative  to  better  and 
lasting  health.  ...  J.  Fisher.” 

“ Osmington,  December  7th.  My  dear  Constable,  As  soon 
as  my  mother  is  fixed  at  Hampstead,  I will  come  and  pay 
you  a visit,  and  help  you  to  bear  your  privation.  . . . 
Evans’s  letter  was  so  far  satisfactory  that  he  reported  you  to 
be  in  a state  of  complete  self-possession.  I entreat  you  to 
retain  it,  for  you  have  need  only  to  look  within  yourself,  and 
find  satisfaction.  I wish,  if  * Brighton  ’ is  not  out  of  your 
possession,  you  would  put  it  on  your  easel  by  your  side,  and 
mellow  its  ferocious  beauties.  Calm  your  mind  and  your 
sea  at  the  same  time,  and  let  in  sunshine  and  serenity.  I feel 
much  for  your  situation,  but  cannot  put  these  feelings  into 


Advice  from  Mr.  Fisher 


149 

words.  You  have  a treasure  in  your  new  friend  Evans,  who 
is  always  at  hand.  ...  J.  Fisher.” 

“ January  8th,  1829.  My  dear  Constable,  . . . The  tone  of 
your  letter  to  me  was  very  satisfactory.  You  appear  to  be 
smitten,  but  not  cast  down.  I will  lend  you  any  assistance 
in  my  power  in  the  education  of  your  children.  There  is  a 
little  book  published  by  the  Society  for  Promoting  Christian 
Knowledge,  which  is  all  you  want  for  religious  instruction, 
Crossman’s  Introduction,  to  which  you  may  add  Nelson's 
Practice  of  True  Devotion.  It  is  a most  sensible  book.  . . . 
J.  Fisher.” 

Constable  returned  with  his  children  to  London,  but 
retained  the  house  at  Hampstead  as  an  occasional  residence. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  January  21st.  My  dear  Leslie,  Do  not 
believe  me  to  be  either  ungrateful  or  negligent  in  that  I have 
not  called  on  you,  or  taken  any  notice  of  your  kind  attentions 
to  me  on  my  coming  hither.  You  know  that  I have  my 
seven  children  here.  This  is  a charge  I pray  God  you  may 
never  feel  as  I do.  Six  of  the  seven  are  in  lovely  health,  but 
I grieve  to  say  my  darling  boy  John  is  in  a sad  state.  . . . 
In  this  sweet  youth  I see  very  much  that  reminds  me  of  his 
mother;  but  I must  not  trust  myself  on  this  subject;  my 
grievous  wound  only  slumbers.  I hope  dear  Mrs.  Leslie  and 
your  children  are  well.  My  thoughts  are  often  on  your 
infant,  for  I well  remember,  on  its  being  brought  into  my 
drawing-room  at  Hampstead,  the  gleam  of  joy  that  over- 
spread that  countenance  which  is  never  absent  from  my 
sight.  ...  I should  like  to  see  you,  and  am  anxious  to 
pass  an  evening  with  you.  I send  this  note  by  a messenger, 
that  you  may  appoint  any  afternoon  that  I can  come  to  you. 
I have  been  ill,  but  I have  endeavoured  to  get  to  work  again, 
and  could  I get  afloat  on  a canvas  of  six  feet,  I might  have 
a chance  of  being  carried  away  from  myself.  I have  just 
received  a commission  to  paint  a mermaid  for  a sign  to  an  inn 
in  Warwickshire.  This  is  encouraging,  and  affords  no  small 
solace  after  my  previous  labours  in  landscape  for  twenty 
years.  However,  I shall  not  quarrel  with  the  lady  now,  she 
may  help  to  educate  my  children.”  He  then  changes  the 
subject,  and  after  some  pleasantry,  goes  on  to  say,  “ I would 
not  write  this  nonsense  at  all,  were  it  not  to  prove  to  you,  my 
dear  Leslie,  that  I am  in  some  degree,  at  least,  myself  again.” 
Constable  made  a very  pretty  and  finished  sketch  of  the 


Life  of  Constable 


*5° 

mermaid,  but  I do  not  think  the  matter  ever  went  farther. 
He  gave  the  sketch  to  Mr.  Evans. 

On  the  ioth  of  February,  he  was  elected  an  Academician. 
That  this  distinction  should  not  have  been  conferred  on  him 
at  a much  earlier  period  of  his  life  is  a proof  that  the  pro- 
gress of  an  original  style  of  art,  in  the  estimation  even  of 
artists,  is  very  slow.  Much  as  he  was  pleased  at  the  attain- 
ment of  this  honour,  he  could  not  help  saying,  “ it  has  been 
delayed  until  I am  solitary,  and  cannot  impart  it.”  He  did 
not  add  with  Johnson,  “ until  I am  known,  and  do  not  want 
it;  ” for  no  painter  of  equal  genius  was  ever  less  known  in 
his  own  country.  Wilkie,  who  had  been  for  some  time 
abroad,  told  me  that  when  he  saw  Constable’s  pictures  in 
the  Louvre,  he  could  not  understand  why  the  painter  of  such 
magnificent  works  had  not  long  been  a full  member  of  the 
Academy. 

“ Lodge,  Charter  House,  February  nth.  My  dear  Con- 
stable, Although  I fully  expected  the  event,  your  note  telling 
me  that  you  are  an  Academician  gave  me  the  greatest  plea- 
sure. Your  rewards  are  at  last  beginning  to  flow  in  upon 
you,  although  (as  everything  is  ordained  in  a state  of  trial) 
the  painful  is  mixed  with  the  sweet.  My  mother  sends  her 
congratulations,  which  are  worth  the  having.  To-morrow 
I go  with  you  to  call  upon  your  friends.  The  event  is  in 
every  way  important  to  me,  since  my  judgment  was  em- 
barked in  the  same  boat  with  your  success.  Most  faithfully 
yours,  John  Fisher.” 

“ My  dear  John  Chalon.  Accept  my  thanks  for  your  kind 
message  to  me  by  your  brother.  I greatly  rejoice  in  the 
event  of  my  election,  as  it  is  attended  with  so  many  gratifying 
circumstances;  but  I assure  you  in  none  more  so  than  the 
certainty  that  it  cannot  fail  to  promote  and  continue  our 
esteem  for  each  other.  I beg  my  kindest  regards  to  your 
family.  Believe  me,  dear  Chalon,  your  brother’s  kind  and 
constant  support  of  me  has  made  an  impression  on  my  mind 
never  to  be  done  away  by  time  or  circumstances.  After  he 
left  me  last  night,  there  came,  ‘ though  last,  not  least,’ 
Turner  and  Jones.  We  parted  at  one  o’clock  this  morning, 
mutually  pleased  with  one  another.  I shall  take  an  early 
opportunity  of  calling  at  your  house.  . . . Ever,  dear 
Chalon,  believe  me  to  be  most  sincerely  yours,  John  Con- 
stable. Charlotte  Street,  February  nth. 


Elected  an  Academician  1 5 1 

“ 34,  Gerrard  Street,  Soho,  February  nth.  My  dear  Con- 
stable, Our  friend  Peter  Coxe  has  just  called  in  the  highest 
glee  to  tell  me  of  your  good  fortune,  or  rather  of  your  having 
attained  an  honour  which  ought  to  have  been  conferred  on 
you  long  ago.  It  is  now  somewhere  about  twenty-seven 
years  since  you  and  I first  entered  the  Academy  together  as 
students.  From  that  period,  in  much  intercourse,  it  is  to 
me  a gratifying  reflection  that  never  on  any  single  occasion 
did  any  cloud  interpose  to  interrupt  the  sunshine  of  our 
friendship,  nor  even  the  shadow  of  a cloud,  yet  you  have 
produced  many,  but  always  painted  them  so  well,  that 
they  have  only  increased  my  great  admiration  of  your  very 
original  genius.  Our  uniform  coincidence  of  opinions  on  men 
and  things  is  equally  remarkable. — Having  gained  this  elec- 
tion, you  have  nothing  higher  to  look  up  to  in  this  world. 
I would,  therefore,  my  dear  friend,  take  this  opportunity, 
and  the  privilege  of  a friend,  to  direct  your  attention  more 
and  more  to  another  election  which  we  are  all  too  apt  to 
lose  sight  of,  our  election  to  a glory  far  above  and  beyond 
all  the  kingdoms  of  this  world,  and  to  secure  which  is  the 
great  purpose  for  which  we  are  sent  into  it.  I should  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  calling  to  congratulate  you,  but  I am 
still  confined  by  illness.  Believe  me  to  remain  on  all  occa- 
sions, my  dear  Constable,  ever  affectionately  yours,  Andrew 
Robertson.” 

Constable  called,  according  to  custom,  after  the  honour 
that  had  just  been  conferred  on  him,  to  pay  his  respects  to 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  who  did  not  conceal  from  his  visitor 
that  he  considered  him  peculiarly  fortunate  in  being  chosen 
an  Academician  at  a time  when  there  were  historical  painters 
of  great  merit  on  the  list  of  candidates.  So  kind-hearted  a 
man  as  Lawrence  could  have  no  intention  to  give  pain ; but 
their  tastes  ran  in  directions  so  widely  different,  and  the 
president,  who  attached  great  importance  to  subject,  and 
considered  high  art  to  be  inseparable  from  historical  art,  had 
never  been  led  to  pay  sufficient  attention  to  Constable’s  pic- 
tures to  become  impressed  with  their  real  merit,  and  there 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  he  thought  the  painter  of,  what  he 
considered,  the  humblest  class  of  landscape  was  as  much 
surprised  at  the  honour  just  conferred  on  him,  as  he  was 
himself.  Constable  was  well  aware  that  the  opinions  of  Sir 
Thomas  were  the  fashionable  ones;  he  felt  the  pain  thus 


152  Life  of  Constable 

unconsciously  inflicted,  and  his  reply  intimated  that  he  looked 
upon  his  election  as  an  act  of  justice  rather  than  favour. 
What  occurred  at  this  visit,  as  well  as  some  ill-natured 
paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  will  explain  a passage  marked 
by  italics  in  a note  to  me,  dated  “ Hampstead,  April  5th. 
Since  I saw  you  I have  been  shut  up  here.  I have  forwarded 
my  picture  of  ‘ Hadleigh  Castle/  which  I shall  send  to  Char- 
lotte Street  to-morrow  morning.  Can  you  oblige  me  with  a 
call  to  tell  me  whether  I ought  to  send  it  to  the  Exhibition? 
I am  grievously  nervous  about  it,  as  1 am  still  smarting  under 
my  election.  I have  little  enough  either  of  prudence  or  self- 
knowledge,  as  you  know,  and  I am  willing  to  submit  to  what 
you  and  others  whom  I value  may  decide.  I shall  dine  with 
the  Dowager  Lady  Beaumont  to-day,  and  I hope  I shall 
meet  you.  I could  hardly  refuse;  yet  at  this  time  (for  I am 
in  the  height  of  agony  about  my  crazy  old  walls  of  the 
Castle),  I could  rather  wish  myself  at  home.  I beg  an 
answer  by  bearer  to  tell  me  how  you  all  are.  My  children 
are  lovely,  and  all  the  better  for  being  here.  Last  Monday 
we  had  a little  party,  it  being  the  birthday  of  two  of  mine, 
and  I sat  down  to  table  with  fourteen,  the  eldest  of  whom 
was  only  eleven.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  April  23rd.  My  dear  Fisher,  I am  glad 
that  you  can  make  this  house  serviceable  to  your  family 
on  any  occasion.  My  housekeeper  will  provide  all  that  is 
necessary,  so  that  the  sole  attention  of  your  servant  can  be 
devoted  to  your  little  boy.1  They  could  not  have  come  more 
conveniently;  my  own  family  having  left  this  house  to-day, 
where  they  have  been  passing  Easter,  the  beds  and  rooms  are 
well  aired.  Mrs.  Savage,2  who  is  anything  but  what  her 
name  implies,  proposes  that  the  front  bedroom,  being  large 
and  having  two  beds,  be  theirs;  one  bed  is  so  large  that 
your  boy  can  either  sleep  with  or  from  your  servant;  a fire 
can  be  kept  constantly  there  or  in  the  drawing-room  for  them 
for  the  day.  I live  down  here  (in  the  parlour),  and  shall 
not  be  put  at  all  out  of  my  way. 

“ I have  just  got  a letter  from  the  Academy.  The  Pan- 
demonium opens  on  Saturday,  in  which  we  are  allowed  every 
excess  for  six  days  (Sunday  excepted).3 

1 Who  was  sent  to  town  to  undergo  a slight  operation,  the  removal 

of  a spot  from  his  lip.  2 His  housekeeper. 

3 The  varnishing  days  allowed  to  the  members  of  the  Academy. 


London  in  March 


1 53 

“ Your  sudden  departure  put  me  out  a good  deal  and 
made  me  angry,  and  it  was  a disappointment  to  my  friends 
in  the  Academy.  Propitiate  them  on  your  return,  and  then 
you  may  leave  me  to  myself. — I was  sadly  ill  after  you  left 
me.  I never  had  so  bad  a cold  before.  However,  Hamp- 
stead and  a picture  set  me  tolerably  well  up.  I have  sent 
the  great  ‘ Castle,’  such  as  it  is,  to  the  Exhibition,  and  a rich 
‘ Cottage.’  Nothing  shall  prevent  my  coming  to  you  at  Salis- 
bury in  the  summer;  Evans  would  be  delighted,  but  he  has 
suffering  humanity  on  his  hands.  I passed  a day  or  two 
with  my  children  at  Ham  House,  the  Countess  of  Dysart’s; 
she  was  very  kind  to  them,  and  pleased  with  them. 

“ Wilkie  has  eight  pictures,  Lawrence  eight,  Jackson, 
Phillips  and  Pickersgill  eight  each.  Callcott,  though  not 
eight,  has  one  eight  feet  long, — a classical  landscape.  Turner 
has  four.  They  have  an  immense  crash  1 in  the  hall,  and  it 
is  evident  the  Devil  must  vomit  pictures  over  London.  . . . 
Poor  old  Northcote  was  at  the  edge  of  death,  but  revived. 
I saw  him  yesterday.” 

“ Osmington,  April  27th.  My  dear  Constable,  I shall  be 
at  Eton  with  my  boy  Osmond  on  the  1st  May,  and  must  stay 
there  a fortnight. — I thank  you,  most  gratefully,  for  your 
kindness  in  receiving  my  little  boy  Frederick  and  his  nurse. 
...  I beg  your  pardon  for  using  you  so  ill  when  in  London. 
But  the  cold,  bitter,  north-east  winds  kept  me  in  such  a 
state  of  irritation,  the  whole  of  my  stay,  that  I should  have 
been  a most  unpleasant  inmate  to  you,  and  have  disturbed 
your  serenity.  I felt  this,  and  staid  purposely  away.  I gave 
you  all  of  my  company  that  I dare  ; and  at  last  suddenly 
left  London,  and  its  windy  streets,  in  a precipitate  fit  of 
desperation.  I have  not  yet  recovered  it.  There  is  a deep 
cellar  in  the  infernal  regions  reserved  for  the  most  desperate. 
London,  in  March,  is  a type  of  it.  See  Milton’s  Cold  Hell. 
Why  did  you  turn  out  into  an  unwholesome  room  on  my 
account?  I cannot  hold  myself  responsible  for  such  in- 
stances of  unwise  hospitality.  Your  life  is  valuable. 

“ Will  you  run  down  to  Windsor  for  a few  days,  between 
May  1 st  and  14th  ? You  will  find  me  there  in  lodgings.  Pray 
do;  and  let  us  walk  over  those  delicious  scenes  again  of 
natural  and  artificial  magnificence;  where  parsons  eat,  and 
stuff,  and  dream  of  preferment ; where  pedagogues  flog  little 
1 He  alludes  to  the  quantity  of  pictures  rejected. 


Life  of  Constable 


154 

boys,  talk  burly,  and  think  themselves  great  men  in  three- 
cornered  hats;  where  statesmen  . . . ; and  where  every- 
body seems  indifferent  to  the  splendid  scenes  that  surround 
them.  Ever  yours,  somewhat  cynically,  J.  Fisher.” 

“ Osmington,  April  30th.  My  dear  friend,  I discovered  in 
an  old  pocket-book,  this  day,  an  extract  from  Milton’s  prose 
works.  When  I made  it,  and  from  which  of  his  works,  I 
forget.  But  this  I remember  that  I meant  to  send  it  to 
you,  saying  what  I now  say;  that  it  is  the  principle  upon 
which  my  friendship  for  you  is  founded.  You  know  that  I 
do  not  use  words  in  mere  flattery. — ‘ As  to  other  points, 
what  God  may  have  determined  for  me  I know  not.  But 
this  I know,  that  if  he  ever  instilled  an  intense  love  of  moral 
beauty  into  the  breast  of  any  man,  he  has  instilled  it  into 
mine.  Ceres,  in  the  fable,  pursued  not  her  daughter  with  a 
greater  keenness  of  inquiry,  than  I have,  day  and  night,  the 
idea  of  Perfection.  Hence,  whenever  I find  a man  despising 
the  false  estimates  of  the  vulgar,  and  daring  to  aspire,  in 
sentiment,  language,  and  conduct,  to  what  the  highest 
wisdom,  through  every  age,  has  taught  us  as  most  excellent, 
to  him  I unite  myself  by  a sort  of  necessary  attachment. 
And  if  I am  so  influenced,  by  nature  or  by  destiny,  that  by 
no  exertion  or  labour  of  my  own,  I may  exalt  myself  to  the 
summit  of  worth  and  honour,  yet  no  powers  of  heaven  or 
earth  will  hinder  me  from  looking  with  reverence  and  affec- 
tion upon  those  who  have  thoroughly  attained  to  that 
glory.’  . . . My  dear  Constable,  ever  yours  faithfully, 
John  Fisher.” 

The  “ Hadleigh  Castle,”  Constable’s  principal  picture  in 
the  Exhibition  of  1829,  received  rather  rougher  usage  than 
usual  from  the  newspaper  critics;  but  it  finely  embodied  to 
the  eye  the  following  lines  from  Thomson’s  “ Summer,”  with 
which  its  title  was  accompanied  in  the  catalogue  of  the 
Exhibition : 

“ The  desert  joys 

Wildly,  through  all  his  melancholy  bounds, 

Rude  ruins  glitter;  and  the  briny  deep, 

Seen  from  some  pointed  promontory’s  top, 

Far  to  the  blue  horizon’s  utmost  verge, 

Restless,  reflects  a floating  gleam.” 

I witnessed  an  amusing  scene  before  this  picture  at  the 
Academy  on  one  of  the  varnishing  days.  Chantrey  told 
Constable  its  foreground  was  too  cold,  and  taking  his  palette 


Mr.  Evans 


155 

from  him,  he  passed  a strong  glazing 1 of  asphaltum  all  over 
that  part  of  the  picture,  and  while  this  was  going  on,  Con- 
stable, who  stood  behind  him  in  some  degree  of  alarm,  said 
to  me  “ there  goes  all  my  dew.”  He  held  in  great  respect 
Chantrey’s  judgment  in  most  matters,  but  this  did  not  pre- 
vent his  carefully  taking  from  the  picture  all  that  the  great 
sculptor  had  done  for  it. 

“ Charlotte  Street,  July  4th.  My  dear  Fisher.  I was  most 
happy  to  receive  Mrs.  Fisher’s  very  kind  letter,  in  which  you 
are  so  kind  as  to  wish  to  see  me  with  my  children.  I have 
taken  places  in  the  coach  for  Wednesday  next,  the  7th,  and 
we  three  shall  be  with  you  to  tea; — I am  told,  before  six 
o’clock,  so  that  we  shall  be  able  to  walk  over  the  bridge 
before  dark. — The  weather  may  be  more  settled  by  the  time 
I come  to  you,  but  the  fine  effects  of  such  a season  make 
ample  amends  for  its  inconvenience.  My  children  are  all 
well,  and  I think  I never  felt  in  better  health,  thanks  to  Evans. 

“ I took  a farewell  look  with  him  at  the  Academy  on 
Thursday.  He  is  impressed  with  my  ‘ Castle.’  ...  He  will 
be  delighted  to  join  us  at  Salisbury. — His  intellect  and  culti- 
vation are,  as  you  discovered,  of  the  first  class,  and  his 
integrity  invaluable.  I have  just  done  a small  portrait  of 
his  mother. — If  you  have  not  your  book  of  Claude’s  etchings 
at  Salisbury,  will  you  procure  it? — as  it  contains  his  epitaph 
and  some  memoranda,  and  I am  engaged  to  give  a sketch 
of  his  character  to  prefix  to  a book  of  engravings,  now  making 
from  the  National  Gallery. 

“ I passed  the  afternoon  of  yesterday  with  Jackson  at  his 
villa  alone.  He  used  a definition  which  was  useful  and 
comprehensive. — He  said,  ‘ The  whole  object  and  difficulty 
of  the  art  (indeed,  of  all  the  fine  arts)  is  to  unite  imagination 

with  nature .’  We  were  talking  of and , etc.,  etc. — 

The  art  is  now  filled  with  Phantasmagoria. — More  when  we 
meet. — ” 

“ Salisbury,  September  3rd.  My  dear  Constable.  Many 
thanks  for  your  continual  remembrance  of  me,  which  is 
worth  more  than  all;  but  nevertheless  many  thanks  for  your 
outward  signs  of  remembrance,  your  venison,  and  your  re- 
vivification of  the  Claude. — I shall  be  at  Windsor  on  Saturday 
night,  September  5th,  with  my  boy.  Now  either  let  me  see 
you  there,  or  hear  from  you. — I yearn  to  see  you  tranquilly 
1 Glazing  is  the  process  of  using  transparent  colour  alone. 


Life  of  Constable 


I56 

and  collectedly  at  work  on  your  next  great  picture,  undis- 
turbed by  gossips  good  and  ill-natured;  at  a season  of  the 
year  when  the  glands  of  the  body  are  unobstructed  by  cold, 
and  the  nerves  in  a state  of  quiescence.  You  choose  February 
and  March  for  composition,  when  the  strongest  men  get 
irritable  and  uncomfortable,  during  the  prevalence  of  the 
N.E.  winds,  the  great  destruction  of  the  frame  in  England. 

“ Minny  1 is  the  nicest  child  in  the  house  possible.  Nobody 
would  know  of  her  existence  if  she  were  not  seen.  She 
improves  in  French  and  music  (her  ear  is  perfect),  and  she 
dances  quadrilles  with  the  chairs,  like  a parched  pea  on  a 
drum  head. 

“ and have  been  together  on  the  visitation  for 

three  weeks.  They  have  neither  broken  bread  nor  spoken 
together,  nor,  I believe,  seen  one  another. — What  a mistake 
our  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Apostolic  missionaries  fall  into 
when  they  make  Christianity  a stern,  haughty  thing.  Think 
of  St.  Paul  with  a full  blown  wig — deep  shovel  hat — apron 
— round  belly — double  chin — deep  cough — stern  eye — rough 
voice — and  imperious  manner, — drinking  port  wine,  and 
laying  down  the  law  as  to  the  best  way  of  escaping  the  opera- 
tion of  the  Curates’  Residence  Act.  I need  not,  I believe, 
sign  my  name.  My  hand  is  pretty  well  known  to  you.” 

Constable  was  now  engaged  in  preparing  the  English 
Landscape  for  publication,  having  secured  the  valuable 
assistance  of  Mr.  David  Lucas;  and  it  led  to  the  magnificent 
engravings  that  gentleman  afterwards  executed  of  “ The 
Cornfield,”  “ The  Lock,”  which  Reynolds  had  contem- 
plated, and  the  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Meadows,”  on 
a large  scale,  and  the  “ Stratford  Mill  ” and  “ Hadleigh 
Castle  ” of  a lesser  size.  A prospectus  of  the  English  Land- 
scape was  printed,  saying,  “ It  is  the  desire  of  the  Author  in 
this  publication  to  increase  the  interest  for,  and  promote  the 
study  of  the  rural  scenery  of  England,  with  all  its  endearing 
associations,  and  even  in  its  most  simple  localities;  of  Eng- 
land with  her  climate  of  more  than  vernal  freshness,  in  whose 
summer  skies  and  rich  autumnal  clouds,  ‘ in  thousand  liveries 
dight,’  the  observer  of  nature  may  daily  watch  her  endless 
varieties  of  effect.”  He  was  by  this  time  fully  aware  of  the 
obstacles  that  existed  to  a just  estimation  of  his  art,  and  he 
drew  up  a preface  to  his  work,  in  which  the  following  passage 
1 Maria  Constable. 


“ English  Landscape  ” 1 57 

seems  to  me  to  be  a true  statement  of  the  case  between  the 
public  and  himself.  “ In  art,  there  are  two  modes  by  which 
men  aim  at  distinction.  In  the  one,  by  a careful  application 
to  what  others  have  accomplished,  the  artist  imitates  their 
works,  or  selects  and  combines  their  various  beauties ; in  the 
other,  he  seeks  excellence  at  its  primitive  source,  nature. 
In  the  first,  he  forms  a style  upon  the  study  of  pictures, 
and  produces  either  imitative  or  eclectic  art;  in  the  second, 
by  a close  observation  of  nature,  he  discovers  qualities 
existing  in  her  which  have  never  been  portrayed  before,  and 
thus  forms  a style  which  is  original.  The  results  of  the  one 
mode,  as  they  repeat  that  with  which  the  eye  is  already 
familiar,  are  soon  recognised  and  estimated,  while  the  ad- 
vances of  the  artist  in  a new  path  must  necessarily  be  slow, 
for  few  are  able  to  judge  of  that  which  deviates  from  the 
usual  course,  or  are  qualified  to  appreciate  original  studies.” 

In  the  year  1814,  when  a collection  of  pictures  by  Wilson, 
Hogarth,  and  Gainsborough,  was  exhibited  at  the  British 
Gallery,  in  the  preface  to  the  catalogue  it  was  said,  “ The 
merit  of  Wilson’s  works  is  now  justly  appreciated;  and  we 
may  hope  that  since  the  period  of  his  decease,  the  love  and 
knowledge  of  art  have  been  so  much  diffused  through  the 
country,  that  the  exertion  of  such  talents  may  never  again 
remain  unrewarded  during  the  lifetime  of  him  who  may 
possess  them.” — Who  would  not  say  Amen  to  this? — And 
yet,  long  after  it  was  penned,  Constable  was  as  much  neglected 
as  Wilson  had  been,  and  so  will  it  again  happen  with  genius 
equally  original  and  natural,  in  landscape,  until  that  branch 
of  the  art  shall  be  better  understood,  with  reference  to  nature, 
than  it  is  yet  by  our  dispensers  of  fame. 

In  one  of  Constable’s  sketch-books,  there  is  a draught  of 
a letter  to  Mr.  Fisher,  in  which  he  says,  “ I know  not  if  the 
landscapes  I now  offer  to  your  notice  will  add  to  the  esteem 
in  which  you  have  always  been  so  kind  as  to  hold  me  as  a 
painter;  I shall  dedicate  them  to  you,  relying  on  that  affec- 
tion which  you  have  invariably  extended  to  me  under  every 
circumstance.” — In  another  part  of  this  memorandum  he 
mentions  Mr.  Lucas,  of  whom  he  says,  “ His  great  urbanity 
and  integrity  are  only  equalled  by  his  skill  as  an  engraver; 
and  the  scenes  now  transmitted  by  his  hand  are  such  as  I 
have  ever  preferred.  For  the  most  part,  they  are  those  with 
which  I have  the  strongest  associations — those  of  my  earliest 


Life  of  Constable 


158 

years,  when  * in  the  cheerful  morn  of  life,  I looked  to  nature 
with  unceasing  joy.’  ” 

Mr.  Fisher  died  before  the  work  was  published,  and  it 
appeared  without  a dedication. 

The  first  plate  engraved  was  of  “ Dedham  Mill,”  from  a 
very  slight  sketch;  but  Constable  did  not  again  place  any- 
thing so  unfinished  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Lucas.  A few  of  the 
many  notes  he  wrote  to  that  gentleman  while  the  work  was 
in  progress,  will  show  how  much  he  was  disquieted  by  the 
undertaking,  though  in  itself  of  no  great  magnitude,  owing 
to  his  fastidiousness  in  the  choice  and  execution  of  the  sub- 
jects (five  plates  that  were  finished  being  rejected  by  him), 
and  to  his  discovering  as  he  proceeded,  that  all  chances  of 
remuneration  for  the  time  and  money  he  was  spending  upon 
it  were  hopeless.  Indeed  the  English  Landscape  proved  in 
the  end  to  be,  as  Coleridge  said  of  a work  of  his  own,  “ a 
secret  confided  to  the  public,  and  very  faithfully  kept.” 

“ September  15th.  Dear  Lucas,  A total  change  has  again 
taken  place;  Leslie  dined  with  me  yesterday;  we  have 
agreed  on  a long  landscape,  evening,  with  a flight  of  rooks, 
as  a companion  to  the  ‘ Spring,’  and  the  ‘ Whitehall  Stairs,’ 
in  place  of  the  ‘ Castle.’  Prithee  come  and  see  me  at  six 
this  evening,  and  take  the  things  away,  lest  I change  again. 
However,  I like  all  the  last  affairs  if  you  do.  I will  tell  you 
the  reasons  for  so  changing.  Pray  come  at  six.  Bring  some- 
thing in  your  hand,  I don’t  care  what.” 

The  “ Autumnal  Sunset,”  the  subject  mentioned  in  this 
note  was  sketched  in  his  favourite  fields  near  Bergholt.  In 
the  distance  towards  the  right  is  the  tower  of  Stoke  Church, 
and  on  the  left  are  Langham  Hill  and  Church. 


CHAPTER  XII 
1830-1831 

Picture  of  “ Bergholt  Churchyard.”  Death  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence. 
Mr.  Shee  elected  President  of  the  Royal  Academy.  Notes  to  Mr. 
Lucas.  Constable  on  the  Committee  of  Arrangement  at  the 
Academy.  Picture  of  “ A Dell  in  Helmingham  Park  ” exhibited 
in  1830.  Illness  of  George  IV.  Jackson.  Bannister.  Constable 
Visitor  in  the  Life  Academy.  Etty.  Wilkie.  Illness.  Large 
Picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Meadows  ” exhibited, 
1831.  Death  of  Jackson.  Death  of  Northcote.  Watteau. 
Greuze.  John  Varley.  Coronation  of  King  William  IV.  and 

Queen  Adelaide.  Lord  B m.  Lord  Lyttelton  and  the  Ghost. 

Old  Sarum.  Illness.  Reform  Bill.  E.  Landseer. 

I had  asked  Constable  to  allow  my  sister  to  copy  the  small 
picture  of  “ The  Porch  of  Bergholt  Church/’  which  has  been 
described  in  the  first  chapter,  and  it  came  to  us  with  the 
following  note:  “ January  1830.  My  dear  Leslie,  I send  the 
‘ Churchyard/  which  my  friends  in  Portman  Place  are  wel- 
come to  use  for  any  purpose  but  to  go  into  it.  . . . The 
motto  on  the  dial  is,  ‘ Ut  umbra,  sic  vita.’  ” — This  note 
was  singularly  followed  by  his  next:  “ January  8th.  My 
dear  Leslie,  I have  just  received  the  distressing  intelligence 
of  the  death  of  poor  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  This  sad  event 
took  place  last  night  in  consequence  of  internal  inflammation. 
I could  not  help  sending  to  you;  the  council  is  called  in 
consequence.” 

Constable,  though  always  on  friendly  terms,  had  never 
been  very  intimate  with  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  but  he  felt 
in  common  with  every  artist  in  the  kingdom  the  magnitude 
of  the  loss  of  so  eminent  a painter,  cut  off  with  such  apparent 
suddenness;  at  a time,  too,  when  he  was  pursuing  his  art 
with  all  the  energy  of  youth,  though  in  his  sixty-first  year; 
and  when,  indeed,  so  far  from  betraying  any  diminution  of 
power,  he  seemed  to  be  improving  on  himself.  This,  I 
think,  was  acknowledged  by  all  who  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  scarcely  finished  but  very  fine  portrait  of  the 
Earl  of  Aberdeen  in  the  exhibition  at  the  Academy  that 
followed  the  death  of  its  president. 

When  the  painting  materials  of  Sir  Thomas  were  sold, 

*59 


160  Life  of  Constable 

Constable  purchased  a palette  which  had  belonged  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds;  and  had  been  given  by  him  to  Sir  George 
Beaumont;  who  gave  it  to  Lawrence.  He  presented  this 
interesting  relic  to  the  Academy,  with  its  history  inscribed 
on  a silver  plate  inlaid  upon  it. 

“ January  26th.  My  dear  Lane.  Mr.  Shee  was  elected 
last  night  by  a large  majority  of  the  Academy;  we  expect 
much  from  his  self-devotion  and  chivalrous  sense  of  honour. 
. . . Yours,  ever  truly,  J.  C.”  Constable  lived  long  enough 
to  witness  the  ample  fulfilment  of  the  highest  expectations 
formed  on  this  occasion. 

“ January  31st.  My  dear  Leslie.  I hope  your  toothache 
is  better.  It  is  an  entire  illness  with  me  whenever  I am  so 
visited.  It  was  a grievous  disappointment  to  all  of  us,  not 
seeing  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie.  My  little  girls  were  all  in 
£ apple-pie  order,’  to  be  seen.  My  dear  Maria  had  been 
practising  her  steps  and  music  all  day  that  she  might  appear 
to  advantage.  All  my  boys  were  in  their  best,  and  had 
allowed  a total  clearance  of  the  drawing-room  of  their 
numerous  ships,  castles,  books,  bricks,  drawings,  etc.,  etc., 
etc.  I missed  you  by  going  to  the  Gallery  where  I had 
invited  Newton  and  Landseer  to  meet  you,  neither  of  whom 
came;  though,  as  I class  them  with  the  nobility,  they  having 
adopted  their  habits,  I sat  up  till  twelve  to  receive  them. 
Not  having  a tongue  of  my  own,  I had  ordered  one,  with  two 
lovely  fowls  for  you,  and  our  best  silver  candlesticks  for  your 
sister.  My  pretty  Minna  had  ready  a little  present  for  my 
God-daughter,  and  to  prove  to  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  that 
though  our  disappointment  was  severe,  we  are  not  angry,  she 
begs  to  send  it  this  afternoon.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  February  26th.  Dear  Lucas.  I am 
anxious  to  see  you,  to  have  farther  talk  about  the  plates. 
First,  I want  to  know  how  forward  the  ‘ Evening  ’ is,  and 
the  retouched  ‘ Stoke.’  I have  not  the  wish  to  become  the 
possessor  of  the  large  plate  of  the  ‘ Castle,’ 1 but  I am  anxious 
that  it  should  be  fine,  and  will  take  all  pains  with  it.  It 
cannot  fail  to  be  so,  if  I may  judge  from  what  I have  seen. 
I have  taken  much  pains  with  the  last  proof  of ‘ The  Summer- 
land,’  but  I fear  I shall  be  obliged  to  reject  it.  It  has  never 
recovered  its  first  trip  up,  and  the  sky  with  the  new  ground 
is  and  ever  will  be  rotten.  I like  your  first  plates  far,  very 
1 “ Hadleigh  Castle.” 


Plates  for  “ English  Landscape  ” 1 6 1 

far,  the  best;  but  I allow  much  for  your  distractions  since,  with 
those  devils,  the  printers,  and  other  matters  not  in  unison 
with  that  patient  toil  which  ought  always  to  govern  the 
habits  of  us  both.  Do  not  neglect  the  * Wood,’ 1 as  I am 
almost  in  want  of  the  picture.  Bring  me  another  large 
* Castle,’  or  two,  or  three,  for  it  is  mighty  fine,  though  it 
looks  as  if  all  the  chimney  sweepers  in  Christendom  had 
been  at  work  on  it,  and  thrown  their  soot  bags  up  in  the  air. 
Yet  everybody  likes  it;  but  I should  recollect  that  none  but 
friends  see  my  things;  I have  no  doubt  the  world  despises 
them.  Come  early  to-morrow  evening,  and  bring  what  you 
can,  and  an  account  of  the  next;  I am  nervous  and  anxious 
about  them.  I have  made  the  upright  windmill  quite 
perfect.  I should  like  the  book  to  consist  of  eight;  pray  tell 
the  writer  not  to  complete  his  sketch  of  the  title;  I have 
made  another.” 

The  engraving  of  the  “ Evening,”  one  of  the  finest  of  his 
small  pictures,  is  the  least  successful  of  all  Mr.  Lucas’s  plates. 
The  scene  is  near  Bergholt,  with  Stoke  and  Langham  in 
the  distance.  This  plate,  the  “ Summerland,”  and  the 
“ Autumnal  Sunset,”  all  represent  the  same  fields,  and  from 
points  of  view  not  far  distant  from  each  other. 

“ March  2nd.  Dear  Lucas,  . . . Shall  I see  you  on  Thurs- 
day? Alfred  Chalon  says,  ‘ The  “ Castle  ” is  a fine  looking 
thing.’  I am  anxious  to  see  a first  proof  of  the  ‘ Evening;  ’ 
but  take  your  time ; I will  be  very  good  and  patient  in  future. 
I long  to  see  the  Church,  now  that  it  is  removed  to  a better 
spot — two  fields  off.  Take  care  to  avoid  rottenness,  it  is 
the  worst  quality  of  all.  Leslie  has  not  the  ‘ Stoke;  ’ take 
him  one  when  you  next  prove  it,  with  the  last  altera- 
tion.” 

“ Dear  Lucas,  I send  the  4 Jaques  ’ in  a flat,  yet  feel  assured 
you  will  not  make  a flat  of  him.  I am  much  pleased  with 
what  we  are  about  so  far,  only  I fear  if  we  do  not  mind,  we 
shall  not  have  enough  of  the  pastoral.  Leslie  has  just  been 
here,  and  likes  much  the  sketch  in  a lane,  which  I send  for 
you  to  look  at.  It  is  a lovely  subject,  rich  and  novel,  and 
what  is  better  than  all,  natural ; it  would  be  a glorious  full 
subject.”  The  “ Jaques  ” mentioned  by  Constable  in  this 
note  was  a water-coloured  drawing  of  the  often  painted 
scene,  the  wounded  stag.  Of  this  subject  he  made  many 

1 “ Helmingham  Park.” 


L 


1 62  Life  of  Constable 

sketches,  and  contemplated  a large  picture,  the  only  imaginary 
landscape  he  ever  thought  of  painting. 

As  a newly-elected  Academician,  he  was  now  on  the  com- 
mittee of  arrangement  of  the  Exhibition,  and  in  a note  to 
Mr.  Lane  he  says,  4 4 1 am  sadly  harassed,  and  not  being  able 
to  call  on  you  is  most  vexatious.  I cannot  go  out,  lest  my 
picture  and  my  fire  should  go  out  too.  How  get  you  on  ? . . . 
I shall  be  overwhelmed  with  pictures,  especially  portraits, 
the  painters  of  them  all  believing  they  can  easily  fill  the  shoes 
of  Lawrence.” 

In  a note  to  me  written  soon  after,  he  says,  44 1 regret  the 
entire  confinement  I have  been  in  since  I saw  you.  My 
picture  has  been,  and  is,  plaguing  me  exceedingly,  for  it  is 
always  impossible  to  know  what  a picture  really  wants  till  it 
comes  to  the  last.  However,  it  shall  go.  It  would  amuse 
you  to  see  how  I am  beset;  I have  poets — earls — dukes — 
and  even  royalty  at  my  feet;  all  painted  canvas,  of  course.” 
His  own  pictures  this  year  were,  the  44  Dell  in  Helmingham 
Park,”  a small  landscape,  and  44  A view  of  Hampstead  Heath.” 
While  assisting  in  the  arrangement,  he  found  much  trouble 
from  the  excessive  size  of  some  of  the  frames;  and  on  remon- 
strating with  an  exhibiter  on  this  point,  who  defended  him- 
self by  saying  that  his  frames  were  made  exactly  on  the 
pattern  of  those  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  he  could  not  help 
replying,  44  It  is  very  easy  to  imitate  Lawrence  in  his 
frames .” 

I have  often  observed  with  surprise,  how  readily  Constable 
would  make  alterations  in  his  pictures  by  the  advice  of 
persons  of  very  little  judgment.  While  finishing  the  picture 
of  the  44  Dell,”  he  was  one  day  beset  with  a great  many 
suggestions  from  a very  shallow  source,  and  after  adopting 
some  of  them,  he  felt  inclined  to  make  a stand,  which  he  did 
by  saying  to  his  adviser, 44  Very  true;  but  don’t  you  see  that 
I might  go  on,  and  make  this  picture  so  good,  that  it  would 
be  good  for  nothing.” 

44  May.  My  dear  Leslie,  Can  you  take  a chop  with  me 
at  five,  or  a dish  of  tea  at  six,  on  your  way  to  the  Academy 
to  the  general  meeting,  where  I hope  you  will  be.  The 
debate  must  be  learned,  as  we  are  to  decide  whether  plaster 
casts  come  under  the  head  of  marbles , which  they  were  not 
able  to  do  at  Edinburgh;  I shall  get  there  by  seven  to  look 
round  the  Exhibition.  I feel  like  the  old  woman  who  kept 


Bannister  and  Newton  163. 

a stall  at  a fair,  who  ‘ hoped  the  king  would  not  die  during 
the  show/  ” 1 

“ August.  My  dear  Leslie,  Will  this  fine  weather  tempt 
you  to  walk  over  the  fields  to  my  pretty  dwelling  in  Well 
Walk?  If  it  should,  and  you  can  make  it  the  afternoon  to 
dinner,  you  will  find  Mr.  Bannister  and  Newton.  Prithee 
come;  life  is  short  (and  so  is  my  notice);  we  meet  too  little. ” 

Mr.  Bannister  was  unable  on  this  occasion  to  dine  with 
Constable,  who  received  from  him  the  following  character- 
istic note:  “ August  17th.  My  dear  Sir,  To  prevent  my 
place  being  unsupplied,  pray  allow  me  to  send  you  a lame 
excuse.  Certain  gouty  symptoms  convince  me  that  I shall 
not  be  able  to  join  your  party.  My  apprehension,  however, 
of  mortification,  my  surgeon  says,  ‘is  a mere  farce;’  and 
adds,  ‘ Can’t  you  be  contented  with  the  gout  ? ’ My  only 
mortification  will  be  in  declining  your  kind  invitation. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  friend,  yours  most  truly,  J.  Bannister.” 

A young  friend  of  mine,  a student  of  the  Academy,  whom 
I had  introduced  to  Constable,  had  called  to  ask  his  advice 
on  the  subject  of  engaging  himself  as  an  assistant  to  an 
eminent  portrait  painter;  and  to  this  matter  the  following 
note  chiefly  alludes:  “ Charlotte  Street,  December  29th. 

My  dear  Leslie.  K.  F calling  on  me  this  morning  on  his 

way  to  you,  I send  you  my  second  number  of  the  Landscape ^ 
the  first  yet  sent  out.  I have  carefully  looked  out  a fine  one, 
and  beg  you  will  receive  all  these  trifles  as  marks  of  my  affec- 
tion, and  if  so,  they  are  no  longer  trifles  in  my  estimation.. 

Poor  F has  much  to  say  to  you  about  himself  and . 

I know  not  how  to  advise.  is  an  honourable  man,  and 

his  art  is  sound  and  good,  but  what  F will  be  able  to  earn 

with  him,  will,  I fear,  but  ill  requite  the  loss  of  time.  These 
kind  of  engagements  are  seldom  attended  with  satisfaction  to 
either  party,  because  they  both  want  to  make  all  they  can  of 
each  other.  I was  much  delighted  with  my  day  at  your 
house  on  Sunday,  and  to  complete  it,  I passed  the  evening 
with  Turner  at  Tomkison’s.” 

Though  Constable  strenuously  objected  to  any  style  in  art, 
however  excellent,  being  looked  at  as  an  object  to  be  attained, 
rather  than  as  a means  towards  the  attainment  of  what  is 
always  better  than  the  best  style,  nature , yet  he  well  under- 
stood how  important  it  is  that  the  student  should  be  directed 
1 This  was  written  during  the  last  illness  of  George  IV. 


Life  of  Constable 


164 

to  nature  by  the  assistance  of  previous  art.  In  the  month 
of  January,  1831,  he  was  visitor  in  the  Life  Academy.  It  is 
the  duty  of  the  visitors  to  determine  the  attitude  of  the  model, 
and  to  give  advice  to  the  students;  and  he  placed  every 
figure,  during  his  attendance,  from  some  well-known  one  by 
a great  master,  beginning  with  an  Eve  from  Raphael,  and 
allowed  no  evening  to  pass  without  a short  lecture  addressed 
to  the  students. 

“ Dear  Leslie,  I set  my  first  figure  yesterday,  and  it  is 
much  liked;  Etty  congratulates  me  upon  it;  do,  dear  Leslie, 
come  and  see  it.  I have  dressed  up  a bower  of  laurel,  and  I 
told  the  students  they  probably  expected  a landscape  back- 
ground from  me.  I am  quite  popular  in  the  Life;  at  all 
events  I spare  neither  pains  nor  expense  to  become  a good 
Academician.  My  garden  of  Eden  cost  me  ten  shillings, 
and  my  men  were  twice  stopped  coming  from  Hampstead 
with  the  green  boughs  by  the  police,  who  thought  (as  was 
the  case)  they  had  robbed  some  gentleman’s  grounds.  . . . 
The  fun  is,  my  garden  at  the  Academy  was  taken  for  a 
Christmas  decoration,  holly  and  misletoe.  Wilkie  called 
yesterday;  I was  unfortunately  at  the  Academy;  but  he 
good-naturedly  came  in,  and  asked  to  see  my  children,  and 
was  delighted  with  my  dear  girl,  who  was  teaching  the  lesser 
ones;  he  ‘hoped  they  were  all  good  children.’  Jackson 
also  called.  I leave  home  at  half-past  five  every  evening,  at 
the  latest.  Come  and  walk  down  with  me.  It  is  no  small 
undertaking  to  make  a Paradise  of  the  Life  Academy.”  In 
another  note,  Constable  says,  “ I shall  look  for  you  this  even- 
ing at  five,  or  you  will  look  in  on  me  in  my  den  ; but  I must 
say  my  lions  are  exceedingly  well  behaved.  Sass  and  Etty 
are  never  absent;  they  set  an  excellent  example.  ...  I 
have  been  reading  an  amusing  lecture  to  my  children  over 
the  print  of  your  ‘ Sir  Roger  De  Coverley  going  to  Church.’ 

“ I was  delighted  to  find  how  much  I was  agreeably 
reminded  of  poor  dear  old  Bigg.”  1 

Constable  set  two  male  figures  at  the  Academy  from  “ The 
Last  Judgment  ” of  M.  Angelo; — he  afterwards  set  a female 
figure  which  he  called  an  Amazon. — “ January  27th,  My 
dear  Leslie,  I hope  you  will  find  an  evening  to  come  down  to 

1 Mr.  Bigg,  R.A.,  sat  to  me  for  the  face  of  Sir  Roger.  I thought 
him  an  admirable  specimen  both  in  look  and  manner  of  an  old-fashioned 
English  gentleman.  A more  amiable  man  never  existed. 


Anxiety  and  Illness  165 

the  Academy  and  see  my  Amazon.  My  labours  finish  there 
on  Saturday.  This  figure  is  liked  best  of  all.  Etty  is  so 
delighted,  that  he  has  asked  me  to  breakfast,  to  meet  some 
friends,  among  them  Mr.  Stothard.” 

Mr.  Lucas  was  interrupted  in  the  work  he  was  engaged  on, 
by  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Lucas  and  one  of  his  children,  and  in 
a note  to  him,  dated  January  4th,  Constable  says,  “ I am  so 
very  anxious  to  hear  how  things  are  going  on  in  your  house, 
that  I send  my  man,  who  I trust  will  bring  me  some  better 
account,  though  for  the  poor  little  fellow  I cannot  feel 
sanguine.  I feel  for  your  distress,  and  I trust  you  have  seen 
Dr.  Davis ; for  if  human  means  can  avail  they  are  his.  Don’t 
think  of  me  or  my  concerns  for  a moment;  your  business  is 
with  yourself.  I mention  this  only  to  relieve  your  mind 
from  all  other  anxiety,  as  I well  know  your  great  integrity, 
and  that  you  are  always  too  ready  to  devote  yourself  to 
others,  or  at  least  to  me.” 

The  early  part  of  the  spring  of  every  year  was  a time  of 
anxiety  to  Constable,  as  it  is  to  most  of  our  artists,  who  are 
just  then  finishing  their  works  for  the  Exhibition.  He  too 
often  found  himself  behindhand,  and  the  redoubled  applica- 
tion that  his  pictures  demanded,  as  the  time  of  sending  them 
to  the  Academy  drew  near,  fatigued  his  mind,  and  this,  with 
the  effects  of  the  easterly  winds  of  the  season,  and  the  in- 
creased irregularity  of  his  meals,  generally  disordered  his 
health.  His  usual  time  for  dining  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  but  when  very  busy  it  varied,  and  I have  known  him 
eat  a few  oranges  while  at  work,  and  sit  down  to  dinner  ill 
with  exhaustion,  when  it  was  too  dark  to  paint.  In  addition 
to  all  this,  his  uneasiness  about  his  book  had  now  a share  in 
producing  the  illness  of  which  the  next  note  speaks.  “ March 
12th.  Dear  Lucas,  My  indisposition  sadly  worries  me,  and 
makes  me  think  (perhaps  too  darkly)  on  almost  every  subject. 
Nevertheless,  my  seven  infants,  my  time  of  life  and  state  of 
health,  and  other  serious  matters,  make  me  desirous  of 
lightening  my  mind  as  much  as  possible  of  unnecessary 
oppression,  as  I fear  it  is  already  too  overweighted.  I have 
thought  much  on  my  book;  and  all  my  reflections  on  the 
subject  go  to  oppress  me;  its  duration,  its  expense,  its  hope- 
lessness of  remuneration ; added  to  which,  I now  discover  that 
the  printsellers  are  watching  it  as  their  lawful  prey,  and  they 
alone  can  help  me.  I can  only  dispose  of  it  by  giving  it 


1 66 


Life  of  Constable 

away.  My  plan  is  to  confine  the  number  of  plates  to  those 
now  on  hand;  I see  we  have  about  twenty..  The  three 
present  numbers  contain  twelve;  others  begun  are  about 
eight  or  ten  more,  some  of  which  may  not  be  resumed,  and 
we  must  begin  the  frontispiece.  It  harasses  my  days,  and 
disturbs  my  rest  at  nights.  The  expense  is  too  enormous  for 
a work  that  has  nothing  but  your  beautiful  feeling  and 
execution  to  recommend  it.  The  painter  himself  is  totally 
unpopular,  and  ever  will  be  on  this  side  the  grave ; the  subjects 
nothing  hut  the  art,  and  the  buyers  wholly  ignorant  of  that. 
I am  harassed  by  the  lengthened  prospect  of  its  duration; 
therefore  I go  back  to  my  first  plan  of  twenty,  including 
frontispiece  and  vignette,  and  we  can  now  see  our  way  out  of 
the  wood.  I can  bear  the  irritation  of  delay  (from  which  I 
have  suffered  so  much  that  I attribute  my  present  illness  in 
part  to  it)  no  longer;  consider,  not  a real  fortnight’s  work 
has  been  done  towards  the  whole  for  the  last  four  months. 
Years  must  roll  on  to  produce  the  twenty-six  prints,  and  all 
this  time  I shall  not  sell  a copy.  Remember,  dear  Lucas,  I 
mean  not,  nor  think  one  reflection  on  you.  Everything, 
with  the  plan,  is  my  own,  and  I want  to  relieve  my  mind  of 
that  which  harasses  it  like  a disease.  Do  not  for  a moment 
think  I blame  you,  or  that  I do  not  sympathise  with  you  in 
those  lamentable  causes  of  hindrance  which  have  afflicted 
your  home.  Pray  let  me  see  you  soon.  I am  not  wholly 
unable  to  work,  thank  God!  I hope  poor  Mrs.  Lucas  is 
better.  Dr.  Davis  has  been  to  see  me  and  my  poor  boy  John, 
who  is  very  ill.  Mr.  Drew  gives  me  pills,  so  that  both  their 
medicines  (which  I take  together)  may  get  me  well  in  double 
quick  time.” 

“ March  23rd.  Dear  Lucas,  Let  me  know  when  I shall 
see  you.  I am  very  anxious  that  you  should  call,  as  I am 
sadly  lonely,  and  do  not  get  well;  but  I am  very  much 
better.  I have  formed  the  wish  to  add  a windmill  to  the 
set,  leaving  the  title  and  vignette  distinct,  and  to  be  given  in, 
which  will  look  handsome.  I have  made  a drawing  of  the 
title  for  you  to  see,  and  I wish  you  to  choose  the  windmill. 
I have  made  a great  impression  on  my  large  canvas.  . . . 
Beechey  was  here  yesterday,  and  said, £ Why,  d n it,  Con- 
stable, what  a d d fine  picture  you  are  making ; but  you 

look  d d ill,  and  you  have  got  a d d bad  cold ! ’ so  that 

you  have  evidence  on  oath  of  my  being  about  a fine  picture, 


Death  of  Jackson  167 

and  that  I am  looking  ill.  I hope  Mrs.  Lucas  is  better,  and 
yourself  well.” 

With  the  large  picture  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the 
Meadows,”  the  one  spoken  of  in  the  last  note,  and  which 
will  often  again  be  mentioned,  Constable  exhibited  at  the 
Academy  this  season  a smaller  one  of  “ Yarmouth  Pier,” 
and  when  the  anxiety  of  preparing  for  the  Exhibition  was 
over,  his  health  improved. 

British  art,  which  had  so  recently  sustained  great  losses  by 
the  deaths  of  Owen  and  Lawrence,  now  again  suffered  heavily 
by  the  death  of  Jackson,  who  had  stood  with  them,  and 
occasionally  perhaps  before  either  of  them,  in  the  first  rank 
of  portraiture.1  He  had  lingered  for  some  time  in  a decline, 
and  as  his  residence  was  near  mine,  Constable  heard  of  his 
death  from  me. 

“ June  2nd.  Dear  Leslie,  Your  note  this  morning  first 
informed  me  of  the  departure  of  poor  dear  Jackson.  One  is 
so  apt  to  believe  that  all  things  which  give  us  pleasure  are 
always  to  continue,  that  when  these  sad  events  do  come,  and 
come  they  must,  we  are  the  more  appalled  and  afflicted.  It 
seems  impossible  that  we  are  to  see  that  dear  fellow  no  more. 
He  is  a great  loss  to  the  Academy  and  to  the  public.  By  his 
friends  he  will  be  for  ever  missed,  and  he  had  no  enemy. 
He  did  a great  deal  of  good,  much  more,  I believe,  than  is 
generally  known,  and  he  never  did  harm  to  any  creature 
living.  My  sincere  belief  is,  that  he  is  at  this  moment  in 
Heaven. 

“ The  papers  still  abuse  the  Exhibition  and  the  painters. 
A book,  The  Library  of  the  Fine  Arts,  has  been  just  left  here, 
in  which  they  speak  very  properly  of  your  pictures,  and 
perhaps  fairly  of  my  * Chaos,’  as  they  term  the  Salisbury; 
they  say,  after  much  abuse,  ‘ It  is  still  a picture  from  which 
it  is  impossible  to  turn  without  admiration.’  I shall  hope  to 
see  you  very  soon,  but  Hampstead  breaks  me  up ; I will,  if  I 
can,  walk  round  to-morrow:  I want  to  see  Lord  Grosvenor’s 
gallery  by  you.  I must  say  I like  to  see  my  friends  in  diffi- 
culties; no  good  comes  without  them;  but  I can  hardly 
understand  what  yours  can  be ; I cannot  believe  your  patron 
and  you  have  chosen  a canvas  sufficiently  large  to  do  you 

1 His  portrait  of  Canova,  painted  for  Chantrey,  and  the  one  of 
Northcote,  painted  for  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  will,  I think,  bear  me  out 
in  saying  this.  As  a colourist,  Lawrence  certainly  never  approached 
him. 


1 68 


Life  of  Constable 

justice,  but  I will  not  pre-judge.  I hear  a good  account  of 
Fisher;  he  is  preaching  at  Salisbury.” 

“ July  5th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I returned  from  Suffolk 
yesterday  to  attend  the  Council.  I left  my  little  girls  with 
my  family  there,  very  happy  and  4 comfordil.’  Nothing  can 
exceed  the  beauty  of  the  country;  it  makes  pictures  appear 
sad  trumpery,  even  those  that  have  most  of  nature;  what 
must  those  be  that  have  it  not?  ” 

The  following  letter  is  addressed,  not  to  the  eminent  Aca- 
demician but  to  another  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Ward, 
who  was  at  that  time  practising  portrait  painting  in  London : 
44  Charlotte  Street,  July  22nd.  Dear  Ward,  Our  mutual 
loss  in  poor  Northcote  makes  one  cling  to  what  is  left,  and  I 
now  more  than  ever  value  the  stores  you  possess  of  his  de- 
lightful conversation.  Do  you  (as  I trust  you  do)  ever  mean 
to  give  them  to  the  world;  they  contain  a mass  of  informa- 
tion, especially  on  the  art.  I do  think  in  that  respect  they 
are  above  all  things  calculated  to  be  useful  in  guiding  students 
in  the  right  way  of  thinking  and  regulating  their  lives  and 
habits.  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon.  I am, 
dear  Ward,  always  sincerely  yours,  John  Constable.” 

I had  asked  Constable  to  look  at  a copy  of  a Watteau, 
44  The  Ball,”  from  the  Dulwich  Gallery,  on  which  I was  then 
engaged  at  the  Academy;  and  to  this  his  next  note  alludes. 

44  Dear  Leslie,  I missed  you  on  the  day  we  should  have 
met  at  the  school  of  painting  by  about  half  an  hour.  Your 
Watteau  looked  colder  than  the  original,  which  seems  as  if 
painted  in  honey;  so  mellow,  so  tender,  so  soft,  and  so 
delicious;  so  I trust  yours  will  be;  but  be  satisfied  if  you 
touch  but  the  hem  of  his  garment,  for  this  inscrutable  and 
exquisite  thing  would  vulgarise  even  Rubens  and  Paul 
Veronese.  . . . My  dear  little  girls  are  beautifully  bronzed; 
they  have  had  a happy  visit.  We  are  all  here.  Come  to  us 
to-morrow  evening.” 

44  August.  My  dear  Leslie,  . . . Lady  Dysart  has  sent 
me  half  a buck;  and  I hope  to  see  the  President  and  Howard 
and  Mr.  Bannister  to  partake  of  it  about  the  middle  of  next 
week;  will  you  come?  One  thing  I much  want  your  help 
in;  a request  is  made  to  me  by  a lady  (a  relation)  to  make  a 
copy  of  Mr.  W ells’  picture  of  4 The  Girl  and  Pigeon  ’ by 
Greuze.  This  friend  of  mine  had  a dear  little  daughter  taken 
from  her;  she  pines  for  her  child.  The  picture  is  the  exact 


At  the  Coronation 


169 

image  of  the  soft  lovely  girl,  of  whom  she  is  bereft  without 
any  memorial.  Give  me  your  advice  how  to  act.  I called 
on  Landseer,  who  is  now,  I find,  on  a visit  to  Mr.  Wells,  and 
might  possibly  aid  me.  Could  the  picture  be  left  with  me 
after  the  close  of  the  Gallery,  I would  copy  it,  and  ensure  its 
safety.  ...  I looked  into  the  National  Gallery  yesterday. 
Carr’s  Rembrandts  are  fine,  and  the  large  Gaspar  magnificent; 
indeed,  nowhere  does  landscape  stand  higher  than  under  that 
roof.  . . 

“ August  22nd.  My  dear  Leslie,  On  Thursday  next  at  six 
o’clock  they  tell  me  Lady  Dysart’s  haunch  will  be  in  perfec- 
tion; at  all  events  it  will  be  on  my  table  at  that  hour. — 

It  is  indeed  very  kind  of  you  to  name  my  gallery  to . 

But  should  your  endeavours  draw  him  into  it,  can  you  give 
him  understanding?  ‘ One  man  may  lead  a horse  to  the 
pond,’  etc.  I should  be  delighted,  however,  to  have  him  in 
my  room,  as  it  would  be  nuts,  to  me,  to  see  him  so  puzzled. 

Lord  N is  a better  creature,  but  he  esteems  ‘ our  own 

Glover  ’ too  much  to  like  our  disowned  Constable.  One 
picture  he  had  of  Glover,  the  foreground  of  which  consisted 
of  one  hundred  flower  pots  all  in  a row  as  thus  ” (here  a 
sketch),  “ the  sun  was  shining  bright,  but  they  cast  no' 
shadow. 

“ Varley,  the  astrologer,  has  just  called  on  me,  and  I have 
bought  a little  drawing  of  him.  He  told  me  how  to  ‘ do 
landscape,’  and  was  so  kind  as  to  point  out  all  my  defects. 
The  price  of  the  drawing  was  ‘ a guinea  and  a half  to  a 
gentleman,  and  a guinea  only  to  an  artist ,’  but  I insisted  on 
his  taking  the  larger  sum,  as  he  had  clearly  proved  to  me 
that  I was  no  artist.” 

“ September  9th.  My  dear  Leslie,  My  servant  told  you 
of  my  being  at  the  Coronation.  I was  in  the  Abbey  eleven 
hours,  and  saw  with  my  own  eyes  the  crown  of  England  put 
on  the  head  of  that  good  man,  William  IV.;  and  that  too  in 
the  chair  of  a saint ! I saw  also  the  gentle  Adelaide  crowned, 
and  I trust,  what  may  now  be  called  the  better  half  of  Eng- 
land’s crown  has  sought  its  own  wearer  in  this  instance.  I 

saw  also  B m with  his  crown  on,  a sight  than  which 

nothing  could  be  more  ridiculous,  for  as  his  coronet  was 
perched  on  the  top  of  an  enormous  wig,  he  bore  the  external 
shape  of  a Jack  in  the  Green,  as  he  stood  with  his  back 
towards  me  a full  hour.”  (Here  the  writing  is  interrupted 


17°  Life  of  Constable 

by  a sketch.)  “ I sat  so  that  I commanded  a view  of  all  the 
peers  placed  in  raised  ranks  in  the  south  transept.  The 
moment  the  King’s  crown  was  on,  they  all  crowned  them- 
selves. At  the  same  instant  the  shouts  of  ‘ God  save  the 
King,’  the  trumpets,  the  band,  the  drums  of  the  soldiers  in 
the  nave,  and  last,  though  not  least,  the  artillery,  which 
could  be  distinguished  amid  all  this  din,  and  the  jar  even  felt, 
made  it  eminently  imposing.  The  white  ermine  of  the  peers 
looked  lovely  in  the  sun;  I shall  sketch  some  of  the  effects; 
the  tone  of  the  walls  was  sublime,  heightened,  no  doubt,  by 
the  trappings,  like  an  old  picture  in  a newly  gilt  frame.” 

“ September  12th.  My  dear  Leslie.  Accept  my  third 
number  with  my  best  regards.  I hope  Mrs.  Leslie  was  not 
the  worse  for  her  visitors  yesterday.  Her  dear  infant  has 
never  been  a moment  from  my  sight  since  I left  you;  they 
were  happy  days  with  me  when  I had  infants.  Will  you 
come  any  day  when  we  can  look  at  the  old  masters  in  Pall 
Mall  together?  I sleep  in  town  to-night.  I am  glad  I saw 
the  show  in  the  Abbey;  it  was  very  delightful,  and  I can 
now  say  I have  seen  a Coronation.  Everybody  seemed 

amused  with  B m;  the  annoyance  to  him  must  have 

been  great.” 

“ September  26th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I have  been  passing 
a day  or  two  with  Digby  Neave  at  Epsom.  I slept  on  Friday 
night  in  the  room  in  which  Lord  Lyttelton  saw  the  ghost.1 

1 “ Thomas,  the  second  Lord  Lyttelton,  had  great  parts  and  ambi- 
tion. He  had  all  his  father’s  foibles,  but  without  his  sound  principles 
of  religion  and  morality;  for  want  of  which  he  fell  into  great  enormities 
and  vices.  His  pleasures  were  restrained  by  no  ties  of  relationship, 
friendship,  or  decency.  He  was  a great  lover  of  gaming ; in  his  younger 
years  he  was  unsuccessful,  but  he  afterwards  became  more  artful,  and 
at  his  death  he  was  supposed  to  have  acquired  thirty  thousand  pounds 
by  play.  His  constitution  was  feeble,  and  by  his  vices  so  enervated 
that  he  died  an  old  man  at  the  age  of  thirty-five.  He  was  like  his 
father  a believer  of  ghosts,  and  many  stories  are  told,  with  considerable 
confidence,  which  have  relation  to  his  death.  About  three  days  before 
he  died,  a female  figure  with  a bird  in  her  hand  appeared  to  him,  as 
he  imagined,  and  told  him  he  should  die  in  three  days.  The  day  of 
this  supposed  appearance  he  went  to  the  House  of  Lords,  and  spoke 
with  great  earnestness  on  some  business  then  in  agitation.  The  next 
day  he  went  to  a villa  he  had  at  Epsom,  apparently  as  well  as  he  had 
been  for  some  time  before.  The  succeeding  day  he  continued  there, 
and  was  in  as  good  health  and  spirits  as  usual,  though  the  apparition 
still  hung  upon  his  mind.  He  spent  the  evening  in  company  with  the 
Miss  Amphletts,  Admiral  Wolesely,  Earl  Fortescue,  and  some  other 
persons;  he  seemed  perfectly  well,  and  pulling  out  his  watch  said 
jocularly  it  was  ten  o’clock,  and  if  he  lived  two  hours  he  should  jockey 
the  ghost.  In  about  an  hour  he  retired  to  his  chamber,  and  ordered 


Old  Sarum 


171 

But  I neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  of  the  lady  or  the  bird. 
It  is  a beautiful  and  romantic  old  house;  deeply  fixed  in 
trees  and  dells  and  filled  with  marble  statues,  dolphins, 

cupids,  etc.  . . . This  morning  I have  seen ’s  studies  in 

Italy  and  Greece;  temples,  trees,  statues,  waterfalls,  figures, 
etc.,  etc.;  excellent  of  their  kind,  and  done  wholly  for  the 
understanding;  bald,  and  naked, — nature  divested  of  her 
chiaroscuro,  which  she  never  is  under  any  circumstances,  for 
we  never  see  her  but  through  a medium.  Yet  these  things 
have  a wonderful  merit,  and  so  has  watchmaking .” 

One  of  Constable’s  sketch  books  contains  a beautiful 
drawing  in  water  colours  of  the  house,  formerly  Lord  Lyttel- 
ton’s, now  belonging  to  Digby  Neave,  Esq.  The  view  is 
taken  from  the  lawn,  which  is  decorated  with  statues, 
urns,  etc. 

Among  the  engravings  made  for  the  English  Landscape 
which  Constable  afterwards  rejected,  when  he  came  to 
arrange  them  with  the  others,  was  a very  powerful  one,  a 
view  on  the  Orwell,  with  two  vessels  hauled  up  on  the  beach, 
and  of  this  plate  the  next  note  speaks.  “ September  27th. 
Dear  Lucas,  I fear  that  we  must  now  engrave  the  * Waterloo.’ 
The  ships  are  too  commonplace  and  vulgar,  and  will  never 
unite  with  the  general  character  of  the  book.  Though  I 
want  variety,  I don’t  want  a hotch-potch.  We  must  not 
have  one  uncongenial  subject;  if  we  have,  it  cannot  fail  to 
tinge  the  whole  book.”  In  another  note  he  says,  “ Dear 
Lucas,  You  will  be  surprised  and  pleased  with  the  touch 
proofs ; they  quite  tempt  one  to  proceed,  so  clever  and  artful 
is  the  devil!  ” 

Constable  was  now  beginning  to  feel  symptoms  of  what 
soon  proved  a very  serious  illness;  and  in  a note  to  Mr. 
Lucas,  dated  October  27  th,  he  writes,  “ I think  myself  better, 
but  don’t  much  care;  it  gives  me  an  excuse  to  be  idle.  Keep 
the  new  4 Old  Sarum  ’ clear,  bright,  and  sharp,  but  don’t  lose 
solemnity.” 

A city  turned  into  a landscape,  independently  of  the  his- 
torical associations  with  Old  Sarum,  could  not  but  be  interest- 

his  valet  to  bring  his  powder  of  rhubarb  which  he  frequently  took  at 
night.  His  servant  brought  it,  and  forgetting  to  bring  a spoon  was 
going  to  stir  it  with  a key;  upon  which  his  lordship  called  him  a 
dirty  fellow  and  bid  him  fetch  a spoon.  Accordingly  he  went,  and 
returning  in  a few  minutes,  found  his  lord  in  the  agonies  of  death.” — 
Supplement  to  Nash’s  “ History  of  Worcestershire.” 


Life  of  Constable 


172 

ing  to  Constable;  and  not  satisfied  with  Mr.  Lucas’s  first 
engraving  of  it,  in  which  its  mounds  and  terraces  were  not 
marked  with  sufficient  precision,  he  incurred  the  expense  of 
a second  plate.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  who  had  seen  the 
first,  greatly  admired  the  treatment  of  this  subject,  and  told 
Constable  he  ought  to  dedicate  it  to  the  House  of  Commons. 

The  plate  of  “ Old  Sarum  ” was  accompanied  with  letter- 
press,  of  which  the  following  are  passages:  “This  subject, 
which  seems  to  embody  the  words  of  the  poet,  ‘ Paint  me  a 
desolation,’  is  one  with  which  the  grander  phenomena  of 
nature  best  accord.  Sudden  and  abrupt  appearances  of  light 
— thunder  clouds — wild  autumnal  evenings — solemn  and 
shadowy  twilights  ‘ flinging  half  an  image  on  the  straining 
sight  ’ — with  variously  tinted  clouds,  dark,  cold  and  grey — 
or  ruddy  and  bright — even  conflicts  of  the  elements  heighten, 
if  possible,  the  sentiment  which  belongs  to  it. 

“ The  present  appearance  of  Old  Sarum,  wild,  desolate, 
and  dreary,  contrasts  strongly  with  its  former  splendour. 
This  celebrated  city,  which  once  gave  laws  to  the  whole 
kingdom,  and  where  the  earliest  parliaments  on  record  were 
convened,  can  only  now  be  traced  by  vast  embankments 
and  ditches,  tracked  only  by  sheep-walks.  ‘ The  plough  has 
passed  over  it.’  In  this  city  the  wily  Conqueror  in  1086 
confirmed  that  great  political  event,  the  establishment  of 
the  feudal  system,  and  enjoined  the  allegiance  of  the  nobles. 
Several  succeeding  monarchs  held  their  courts  here;  and  it 
too  often  screened  them  after  their  depredations  on  the 
people.  In  the  days  of  chivalry,  it  poured  forth  its  Long- 
spees  and  other  valiant  knights  over  Palestine.  It  was  the 
seat  of  the  ecclesiastical  government,  when  the  pious  Osmond 
and  the  succeeding  bishops  diffused  the  blessings  of  religion 
over  the  western  kingdom;  thus  it  became  the  chief  resort 
of  ecclesiastics  and  warriors,  till  their  feuds  and  mutual 
animosities,  caused  by  the  insults  of  the  soldiery,  at  length 
occasioned  the  separation  of  the  clergy,  and  the  removal  of 
the  Cathedral  from  within  its  walls,  which  took  place  in 
1227.  Many  of  the  most  pious  and  peaceable  of  the  inhabi- 
tants followed  it,  and  in  less  than  half  a century  after  the 
completion  of  the  new  church,  the  building  of  the  bridge 
over  the  river  at  Harnham  diverted  the  great  western  road, 
and  turned  it  through  the  new  city.  This  last  step  was  the 
cause  of  the  desertion  and  gradual  decay  of  Old  Sarum.  The 


The  Reform  Bill  173 

site  now  only  remains  of  this  once  proud  and  populous  city, 
whose  almost  impregnable  castle,  with  its  lofty  and  embattled 
towers,  whose  churches,  with  every  vestige  of  human  habita- 
tion, have  long  since  passed  away.  The  beautiful  imagina- 
tion of  the  poet  Thomson,  when  he  makes  a spot  like  this 
the  haunt  of  a shepherd  with  his  flock,  happily  contrasts 
the  playfulness  of  peaceful  innocence  with  the  horrors  of 
war  and  bloodshed,  of  which  it  was  so  often  the  scene: 

‘ Lead  me  to  the  mountain’s  brow. 

Where  sits  the  shepherd  on  the  grassy  turf 
Inhaling  healthful  the  descending  sun. 

Around  him  feeds  his  many-bleating  flock, 

Of  various  cadence;  and  his  sportive  lambs, 

This  way  and  that  convolved,  in  friskful  glee, 

Their  frolics  play.  And  now  the  sprightly  race 
Invites  them  forth;  when  swift  the  signal  giv’n 
They  start  away,  and  sweep  the  massy  mound 
That  runs  around  the  hill,  the  rampart  once 
Of  iron  war.’  ” 

In  a note  to  Mr.  Benjamin  Dawson  of  Hampstead,  Con- 
stable, speaking  of  Old  Sarum  says:  “ Who  can  visit  such  a 
solemn  spot,  once  the  most  powerful  city  of  the  West,  and 
not  feel  the  truth  and  awfulness  of  the  words  of  St.  Paul: 
1 Here  we  have  no  continuing  city  I ’ ” 

Towards  the  end  of  October  Constable  became  very  un- 
well, and  was  greatly  depressed  in  spirits.  I had  called  on 
him,  and  found  him  in  a state  of  mind  which  magnified 
every  anticipation  of  evil.  The  Reform  fever  was  then  at 
its  crisis,  and  he  talked  much  of  all  that  was  to  be  feared 
from  the  measure.  I endeavoured  to  quiet  his  mind,  but 
fearing  that  I had  done  him  more  harm  than  good  by  pro- 
longing the  conversation  I wrote  to  him  a day  or  two  after- 
wards: “ My  dear  Constable,  I have  heard  of  you  twice  since 
I saw  you;  once  from  Lucas,  and  once  from  Vaughan,  and 
I now  want  to  hear  that  you  were  not  the  worse  for  attending 
the  Council.  I came  away  from  you  with  the  uncomfortable 
feeling  that  I had  excited  you  to  talk  too  much,  and  on  an 
irritating  subject.  I have  not  a doubt  but  that  at  the  present 
time,  as  it  always  has  been  when  parties  have  run  high,  the 
evils  on  both  sides  are  tremendously  exaggerated,  and  I trust 
you  will  soon  find  your  fears  about  the  security  of  the  funds 
to  be  groundless.  ...  It  is  grievous  to  me  to  think  that 
a mind  like  yours  may  be  harassing  itself  with  useless  appre- 
hensions of  the  future,  to  no  other  end  than  that  of  impairing 


Life  of  Constable 


r74 

your  health,  which  is  of  the  greatest  consequence  to  yourself, 
your  children,  and  your  friends.  There  is  no  evil  more 
certain  than  the  dread  of  uncertain  ones.  Don’t  trouble 
yourself  by  writing  to  me  unless,  as  I sincerely  hope,  you  are 
a great  deal  better;  but  send  me  word  that  you  did  not 
suffer  by  going  to  the  Academy.” 

“ Dear  Leslie,  Greatly  do  I lament  going  to  the  Academy. 
I am  much  worse  than  when  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  were  here. 
The  truth  is,  I have  long  been  getting  ill,  and  it  will  surprise 
you  to  hear  that  I have  always  had  the  worst  tongue  possible. 
The  mischief  that  has  been  so  long  hatching  has  at  length 
come  to  a head.  Evans  tells  me  I must  take  great  care  of 
my  health  for  my  children’s  sake;  I much  doubt  if  my  life 
is  of  any  use  to  them,  but  I love  them,  and  they  love  me,  so 
the  parting,  at  least,  will  be  sad.  . . . What  makes  me 
dread  this  tremendous  attack  on  the  constitution  of  the 
country  is,  that  the  wisest  and  best  of  the  Lords  are  seriously 
and  firmly  objecting  to  it;  and  it  goes  to  give  the  govern- 
ment into  the  hands  of  the  rabble  and  dregs  of  the  people, 
and  the  devil’s  agents  on  earth,  the  agitators.  Do  you  think 
that  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  Copley,  and  Eldon,  and  Abbot,  and  all  the  wisest  and 
best  men  we  have,  would  oppose  it  if  it  was  to  do  good  to 
the  country?  I do  not.  No  Whig  Government  ever  can  do 
good  to  this  peculiar  country.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  November  4th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I know 
not  how  enough  to  thank  you  and  dear  Mrs.  Leslie  for  the 
kind  interest  you  both  take  in  me.  I am  now,  perhaps, 
quite  well,  and  I can  give  you  no  greater  proof  of  it  than  by 
telling  you  that  the  Reform  Bill  now  gives  me  not  the  least 
concern.  I care  nothing  about  it,  and  have  no  curiosity  to 
know  whether  it  be  dead  or  alive,  or  if  dead,  whether  it  will 
revive  from  its  ashes.  I hope  to  pass  a quiet  and  domestic 
winter.  My  illness  was  much  increased  by  fretting  and 
pining  for  my  children,  of  whom  I saw  little  or  nothing.  I 
shall  now  call  Hampstead  my  home , Charlotte  Street  my  office. 
Only  think,  I had  the  children  here  only  three  or  four  months 
all  last  year,  and  then  took  them  to  Hampstead  looking  like 
parboiled  rabbits.  I have  begun  the  copy  of  Mr.  Wells’ 
picture.” 

“ November  26th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I am  sending  to  poor 
Lucas,  fearing  he  must  be  ill,  as  I have  not  heard  of  him  so 


Maria  Constable 


*75 

long.  ...  I shall  bring  my  children  to  Charlotte  Street  at 
Christmas,  where  I shall  have  a pleasant  party,  and  I hope- 
often  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie.  I was  delighted  to  have 
Edwin  Landseer  on  Sunday  at  my  retreat ; besides,  he  fell  in 
love  with  my  eldest  daughter,  and  I could  not  say  nay;  it 
was  to  paint  her.” 

“Well  Walk,  December  17th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I cannot 
let  Lucas  depart,  without  a wretched  line  or  two  to  you.  I 
have  not  been  in  London  since  we  parted  last  at  the  Academy. 
My  sad  illness  has  a good  deal  returned,  and  the  worst  is,  it 
is  accompanied  by  an  attack  of  acute  rheumatism  which  has 
quite  disabled  me.  Thank  God,  this  right  hand  is  left  me 
entire;  reminding  me,  if  I could  ever  forget  it,  of  your  dear 
child’s  surprise  at  ‘ the  poor  gentleman  who  was  all  shot 
away  but  his  hand ; ’ 1 but  my  left  side  and  arm  prevented  my 
working  by  pain  and  helplessness.  Fourteen  leeches,  how- 
ever, on  that  shoulder,  dislodged  part  of  the  enemy,  but  only 
that  he  should  make  a lodgment  in  my  knee,  and  now  I 
can’t  stand ; but  I am  so  much  better  in  general  health  that 
I bear  it  with  tolerable  grace,  Joy  me .” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  Tuesday,  December  28th.  My  dear 
Leslie.  ...  I have  parted  with  my  dear  little  Maria  for  a 
week  on  a visit  to  Putney,  a great  sacrifice  on  my  part;  I 
miss  her  exceedingly;  she  is  so  orderly  in  all  her  plans,  and 
so  full  of  method, — so  lady-like  by  nature,  and  so  firm,  and 
yet  so  gentle,  that  you  cannot  believe  the  influence  this 
heavenly  little  monitor  has  on  this  whole  house,  but  most 
of  all  on  me,  who  watch  all  her  dear  ways  with  mingled 
smiles  and  tears.  This  calls  to  my  recollection  two  lines  of 
an  epitaph  in  a country  churchyard,  written  by  a gentleman 
on  his  wife: 

‘ The  voice  of  all  who  knew  her  this  contest, 

But  chief  the  voice  of  him  who  knew  her  best.’ 

Should  I live,  and  this  dear  image  of  her  mother  be  spared 
to  me,  what  a blessing  and  comfort  to  my  old  age;  I have,, 
indeed,  much  to  be  thankful  for.  ...  I must  put  Mrs. 
Leslie’s  name  to  this  paper,  or  how  can  I convey  to  you  and 
her  my  sincere  good  wishes  of  the  season?  I hope  you  and 
she  may  be  happy  for  many  many  Christmases.  For  myself^ 
I am  always  happy  if  my  children  are  well,  which,  thank 
God,  is  the  case  now.” 

1 On  seeing  an  engraving  of  an  antique  fragment. 


Life  of  Constable 


176 

“ December  29th.  I shall  try  all  I can  to  get  well,  and 
■come  to  you  on  Monday  with  my  two  little  girls,  who,  I am 
sure,  will  be  much  delighted.  But  I am  still  a poor  devil; 
however,  to-day  I have  been  painting,  and  to-morrow  I hope 
to  get  the  Greuze  finished.  My  pretty  Minna  dressed  up 
my  mantel-piece  with  Christmas  boughs,  and  set  out  a little 
table  in  the  dining-room,  that  I might  look  pretty  in  her 
.absence,  which  I scrupulously  forbid  to  be  disturbed.” 


CHAPTER  XIII 

1832 

Illness.  Turner.  Claude.  Hobbema.  Gainsborough.  Stanfield. 
Picture  of  “ Waterloo  Bridge.”  Mr.  Lawlev.  Callcott.  Constable’s 
Mode  of  Proceeding  with  his  Pictures.  The  Palette  Knife.  Ex- 
hibition at  the  Academy,  1832.  Constable’s  eldest  Daughter 
dangerously  111.  Illness  of  John  Dunthorne,  Jun.  New  Apart- 
ments for  the  Academy.  Death  of  Archdeacon  Fisher.  Copy 
of  de  Hooge.  Death  of  J.  Dunthorne,  Jun.  Constable  attends  his 
Funeral  at  Bergholt.  Vale  of  Dedham.  E.  Landseer.  Mr.  George 
Constable.  Picture  of  “ Englefield  House.” 

“ Hampstead,  January  1832.  My  dear  Leslie,  We  intend 
reaching  Charlotte  Street,  pack  and  package,  with  my  seven 
children,  about  Thursday.  I am  not  certain,  however, 
of  myself,  for  Evans  says  I may  not  be  fit  for  removal  by 
that  time.  He  is  a skilful  and  honest  doctor,  a very  sensible 
man  with  great  acquirements,  and  a most  sincere  friend,  so 
that  I have  many  blessings  yet.  I am  not  sorry  to  have 
missed  the  visitorship  in  the  Life  this  year,  and  next  year 
I shall  be  ineligible;  my  youth  being  gone,  I can  hardly 
stand  the  fags  I lay  on  myself.  I hope  all  is  well  with  you.” 
The  painful  illness  from  which  Constable  had  lately 
suffered  so  severely,  had  not  yet  left  him.  I had  written 
from  Petworth  describing  some  of  the  pictures  there,  and 
received  the  following  letter,  dictated  by  him,  for  he  was 
disabled  by  rheumatism  in  his  hand  from  holding  a pen: 
“ From  my  bed,  Charlotte  Street,  January  14th.  My  dear 
Leslie,  Accept  my  thanks  for  your  kind  letter.  I rejoice 
to  hear  that  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  and  the  dear  children  got 
through  your  journey  so  comfortably.  For  myself,  I have 
had  rather  a severe  relapse,  but  I passed  last  night  almost 
wholly  free  from  pain,  the  first,  I believe,  for  these  three 
weeks.  I had  great  pleasure  in  seeing  my  brother,  by  whom 
I was  much  excited  on  family  matters,  he  entering  with 
great  cordiality  into  all  my  wishes  regarding  my  children. 
The  exertion  was,  no  doubt,  too  great  for  me,  but  Evans 
assured  me,  last  night,  he  had  not  seen  me  so  well.  I am 
much  interested  with  your  account  of  the  pictures  at  Pet- 

177  M 


Life  of  Constable 


178 

worth.  I remember  most  of  Turner’s  early  works;  amongst 
them  was  one  of  singular  intricacy  and  beauty;  it  was  a 
canal  with  numerous  boats  making  thousands  of  beautiful 
shapes,  and  I think  the  most  complete  work  of  genius  I ever 
saw.  The  Claude  I well  know;  grand  and  solemn,  but  cold, 
dull  and  heavy;  a picture  of  his  old  age.  Claude’s  exhila- 
ration and  light  departed  from  him  when  he  was  between 
fifty  and  sixty,  and  he  then  became  a professor  of  the  ‘ higher 
walks  of  art,’  and  fell  in  a great  degree  into  the  manner  of 
the  painters  around  him;  so  difficult  it  is  to  be  natural,  so 
easy  to  be  superior  in  our  own  opinion.  When  we  have 
the  pleasure  of  being  together  at  the  National  Gallery,  I 
think  I shall  not  find  it  difficult  to  illustrate  these  remarks, 
as  Carr  has  sent  a large  picture  1 of  the  latter  description. 
Hobbema,  if  he  misses  colour,  is  very  disagreeable,  as  he  has 
neither  shapes  nor  composition.  Your  mention  of  a solemn 
twilight  by  Gainsborough  has  awakened  all  my  sympathy; 
do  pray  make  me  a sketch  of  it  of  some  kind  or  other,  if  it  is 
only  a slight  splash. 

“As  to  meeting  you  in  these  grand  scenes,  dear  Leslie, 
remember  the  Great  were  not  made  for  me,  nor  I for  the 
Great;  things  are  better  as  they  are.  My  limited  and 
abstracted  art  is  to  be  found  under  every  hedge  and  in  every 
lane,  and  therefore  nobody  thinks  it  worth  picking  up;  but 
I have  my  admirers,  each  of  whom  I consider  an  host.  My 
kindest  regards  to  Mrs.  Leslie.” 

“ My  dear  Leslie,  After  three  weeks  inability  to  hold  my 
pen,  I resume  it  for  the  first  time  to  write  to  you.  ...  So 
far  had  I written  when  your  letter  arrived.  I am  now 
recovering,  I may  say  fast,  and  am  beyond  the  fear  of 
relapses;  but  certainly,  as  you  say,  ‘ excitement  under 
illness  is  a much  worse  thing  than  is  generally  imagined.’ 
I sat  up  yesterday,  dressed,  by  the  fire,  and  ate  a small  fish 
for  my  dinner,  to  the  great  delight  of  Alfred,  who  would 
dine  with  me,  as  he  it  was,  he  said  (and  truly),  * who  nursed 
me  so  well.’  How  heavenly  it  is  to  wake,  as  I now  do,  after 
a good  night,  and  see  all  these  dear  infants  about  my  bed, 
all  up  early  to  know  how  papa  passed  the  night.  Even 
little  Lionel  puts  out  his  little  face  to  be  kissed,  and  smacking 
his  lip,  says,  ‘Are  you  well,  better  to-day?  ’ I am  often 

1 The  subject  of  this  picture,  which  is  called  “ Sinon  before  Priam/9 
is  evidently  David  at  the  cave  of  Adullam. 


Convalescence 


l79 

inquired  after  by  kind  friends,  and  the  sympathy  of  my 
real,  own,  and  dear  friends  is  great  indeed.  I have  got  my 
‘ Church  ’ from  Hampstead,  to  hang  at  the  foot  of  my  bed 
to  amuse  me. 

“How  kind  of  you  to  think  of  the  Gainsborough;1  the 
‘ Lord  Rodney  ’ 2 I remember  at  Mr.  Bigg’s,  who  did  it  up 
very  well,  and  of  whom  Lord  Egremont  bought  it.  Bigg 
had  it  to  sell  for  a gentleman ; he  showed  it  to  Lord  Egre- 
mont, who  seemed  hardly  to  notice  it,  but  on  going  away, 
he  suddenly  turned  round  at  the  door,  and  said,  * You  may 
send  me  the  Admiral.’  I knew  the  grandson  of  Lord  Rodney, 
who  was  enough  like  the  picture  to  have  sat  for  it. 

“ I had  a terrific  visit  from  K.  F on  Sunday  morning. 

He  was  brushed  up  and  ‘ bearded  like  the  pard,’  and  going 
to  hear  Irving,  who,  he  said,  was  the  only  man  to  preach 
the  Bible,  explain  the  prophecies,  etc.  I cautioned  him 
against  enthusiasm  in  religion,  which,  as  it  has  no  foundation, 
is  apt  to  slip  from  under  a man,  and  leave  infidelity  or 
madness;  but  I talked  to  a tree.  However,  touching  his 
picture  of  ‘ Circe  ’ told  better,  and  he  went  away  with  a 
ghastly  smile,  nearly  crushing  my  hand  in  that  grasp  of  his. 
This  visit  really  did  excite  me,  and  I fell  into  a passion, 
which  did  me  good.  . . . P has  just  been  here,  accom- 

panied by  Newton’s  dog,  who  has  presented  me  with  two 
fleas,  lest  I should  now  sleep.  God  bless  you  all.  Alfred 
close  at  my  elbow.  . . . Jones  likes  my  preface.  ...  I 
have  seen  Stanfield,  and  am  much  struck  with  him  alto- 
gether as  a sound  fellow;  he  has  great  power.” 

“ March  3rd.  My  dear  Leslie,  Many  thanks  for  your 
visit  yesterday.  I have  got  my  large  ‘ Waterloo  ’ beautifully 
strained  on  a new  frame,  keeping  every  inch  of  canvas.  It 
gives  me  much  pleasure  in  the  present  occupation,  but  how 
long  that  will  last  I know  not.  Archdeacon  Fisher  used  to 
compare  himself  in  some  situations  to  a lobster  in  the  boiler; 
very  comfortable  at  first,  but  as  the  water  became  hotter  and 

hotter,  grievously  perplexed  at  the  bottom.  P called 

yesterday.3  I joked  with  him  at  first  on  the  folly  of  fighting 
with  windmills,  but  he  is  quite  confirmed  in  the  boundless 

1 Of  which  I was  making  a sketch  for  him. 

3 By  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  one  of  his  finest  pictures. 

3 A friend  of  Constable  and  of  mine,  whose  good  heart  and  strong 
understanding  should  have  kept  him  aloof  from  that  class  of  politicians 
who  would  overturn  the  established  institutions  of  the  country. 


i8o  Life  of  Constable 

notions  he  entertains  on  the  wrong  side  of  everything.  My 
best  regards;  I shall  soon  come  and  see  you;  I am  quite 
tired  and  out  of  patience  at  being  so  long  ill  and  disabled.” 

“ March  4th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I have  not  the  power  to 
come  so  far  as  your  house,  but  I want  much  to  see  you,  and 
to  thank  Mrs.  Leslie  for  her  very  kind  note  of  yesterday,  of 
which  Alfred  has  taken  possession  for  his  ‘ real  own,’  as  he 
says  it  was  intended  for  him,  for  he  is  mentioned  in  it.  Mrs. 
Leslie  was  so  good  as  to  speak  of  me  in  the  usual  kind  way 
in  which  you  are  both  pleased  to  consider  me,  to  Mr.  Lawley,1 
who  called  yesterday  afternoon,  and  nothing  could  be 
more  agreeable  than  we  both  were  to  one  another;  he 
admiring  my  pictures,  and  I admiring  him  for  doing  so ; but 
he  has  not  admired  only,  he  has  taken  a great  fancy  to  my 
* Heath,’  and  to  my  book,  which  is  now  assuming  a tangible 
shape.  ...  He  desired  the  India  copies  of  my  book  to 
be  put  up  for  him,  and  he  will  send  one  of  his  ‘ lazy  fellows  ’ 
for  them  on  Monday  morning;  all  this  is  very  delightful  to 
me.  He  was  much  pleased  with  my  Harlequin's  jacket , and 
said  he  should  often  call  and  see  it,  for  it  was  ‘ a most 
amusing  picture,  the  houses — the  bridge — St.  Paul’s — the 
numberless  boats — etc.  I wish  I could  get  to  your  house, 
but  my  knee  is  so  bad  I could  not  walk  to  the  top  of  my  own 
street.” 

In  a note  to  Mrs.  Leslie,  dated  March  28th,  Constable, 
speaking  of  Alfred  Chalon’s  very  fine  water-colour  drawing, 
the  whole  length  portrait  of  Mrs.  la  Touche,  says,  “ Has 
Leslie  seen  Chalon’s  old  lady  in  black?  it  is  the  grandest  ‘ II 
Penseroso  ’ ever  done  in  the  world.” 

“ April  9th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I hope  you  get  on  with  your 
picture  to  your  liking;  I am  in  a dreadful  state  about  mine, 
for  I am  determined  to  send  it.  I should  like  much  to  see 
yours,  but  that  has  not  been  possible,  as  you  will  do  me  the 
justice  to  believe.  I met  Callcott  at  dinner  the  other  day; 
lie  said  he  regretted  much  that  you  had  determined  not  to 
send  the  ‘ Sterne;  ’ I regret  it  also;  he  said  it  ‘ was  quite 
fit,  and  very  fit  for  the  Exhibition;  ’ I think  so  too.  At  all 
events,  I thought  you  might  like  to  hear  his  opinion,  and  I 
assure  you  it  was  the  only  one  in  which  we  did  agree  during 
the  evening.  He  thinks  I do  not  believe  what  I say,  and 
only  want  to  attract  attention  by  singularity;  but  my 
1 Now  Sir  Francis  Lawley. 


Mode  of  Proceeding  1 8 i 

pictures  being  my  acts,  show  to  my  cost  that  I am  sincere, 
for 

‘ He  who  hangs,  or  beats  his  brains, 

The  devil’s  in  him  if  he  feigns.’ 

But  he  is  on  the  safe  side.  . . . My  boys  are  all  here.  I 
saw  my  little  girls  on  Sunday,  all  well — so  the  world  is  light 
as  a feather  to  me.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  April  24th.  My  dear  Leslie,  All  my  little 
girls  are  here.  Can  Mrs.  Leslie  and  your  sister  and  yourself 
come  and  pass  an  hour  with  us  on  Thursday  at  seven  or  so. 
On  Wednesday,  the  levee,  which  they  are  to  view  from  a 
window  in  St.  James’  Street.  If  they  see  only  the  soldiers, 
they  are  worth  the  seeing,  and  ‘ little  things  are  great  to 
little  minds.’  I have  never  been  more  restless  about  a 
picture  than  with  the  premature  dismissal  of  this,  and  it 
has  not  even  my  redeeming  quality,  the  rural.” 

Two  opposite  modes  of  proceeding  are  adopted  by  painters 
in  the  execution  of  their  works.  With  some  it  is  the  practice 
to  finish  part  by  part  as  the  picture  proceeds,  so  that  while 
it  is  in  progress,  portions  entirely  or  very  nearly  completed 
are  seen  on  a canvas,  the  remainder  of  which  is  blank. 
Other  artists  carry  on  the  whole  together;  beginning  with 
a faint  dead  colour,  in  which  the  masses  only  are  laid  in,  and 
proceeding  with  the  details  gradually,  and  without  suffering 
one  part  to  advance  much  beyond  the  rest,  until  the  whole  is 
finished.  The  first  mode  is  the  most  favourable  to  precision 
of  touch,  the  last  to  richness  of  surface  and  truth  of  tone.  I 
need  not  say  this  was  the  mode  adopted  by  Constable. 
Indeed,  in  landscape  it  seems  impossible  that  those  almost 
imperceptible  gradations  of  colour  and  light  and  shadow 
which  form  so  much  of  its  charm,  should  be  obtained  by  any 
other  process.  It  has,  however,  the  disadvantage  of  tempt- 
ing the  artist  at  times  to  sacrifice  parts  too  much  to  the 
general  effect.  With  Constable  chiaroscuro  was  the  one 
thing  to  be  obtained  at  whatever  cost.  “ I was  always 
determined,”  he  said,  “ that  my  pictures  should  have 
chiaroscuro,  if  they  had  nothing  else.”  In  the  pursuit  of 
this  indispensable  quality,  and  of  that  brightness  in  nature 
which  baffles  all  the  ordinary  processes  of  painting,  and 
which  it  is  hardly  possible  to  unite  with  smoothness  of  sur- 
face, he  was  led  by  degrees  into  a peculiar  mode  of  execution, 
which  too  much  offended  those  who  were  unable  to  see 


£82 


Life  of  Constable 


the  look  of  nature  it  gave  at  the  proper  distance.  In  the 
**  Waterloo  Bridge  ” he  had  indulged  in  the  vagaries  of  the 
palette  knife  (which  he  used  with  great  dexterity)  to  an 
excess.  The  subject  challenged  a comparison  with  Canaletti, 
the  precision  of  whose  execution  is  wonderful,  and  the  com- 
parison was  made  to  Constable’s  great  disadvantage;  even 
his  friend,  Mr.  Stothard,  shook  his  head  and  said,  “ Very 
unfinished,  sir,”  and  the  picture  was  generally  pronounced 
a failure.  It  was  a glorious  failure,  however;  I have  seen 
it  often  since  it  was  exhibited,  and  I will  venture  to  say, 
that  the  noonday  splendour  of  its  colour  would  make  almost 
any  work  of  Canaletti,  if  placed  beside  it,  look  like  moon- 
light. But  such  pictures  ought  not  to  be  compared,  each 
has  its  own  excellence,  and  nothing  can  be  more  true  than 
Constable’s  remark,  that  “ fine  pictures  neither  want  nor  will 
hear  comparison .” 1 It  might  be  at  this  time  that  he  wrote 
what  I found  on  a scrap  of  paper  among  his  memoranda: 
*l  My  art  flatters  nobody  by  imitation , it  courts  nobody  by 
smoothness,  it  tickles  nobody  by  petiteness,  it  is  without  either 
fal  de  lal  or  fiddle  de  dee,  how  then  can  I hope  to  be  popular?  ” 
With  the  “ Waterloo  Bridge,”  Constable  exhibited  a very 
small  picture  of  “ Sir  Richard  Steele’s  Cottage,  Hampstead ; ” 
with  two  others,  “ A Romantic  House,  Hampstead,”  and 
“ Moonlight,”  and  four  drawings,  among  which  was  the 
“ Jacques  and  the  wounded  Stag.” 

When  the  following  note  was  written,  every  thought  of 
art  was  banished  from  Constable’s  mind  by  the  sudden  illness 
of  his  eldest  daughter  with  scarlet  fever:  “ Charlotte  Street, 
June  22nd.  My  dear  Leslie,  Thank  you  for  your  kind  note. 
I knew  you  would  be  anxious,  and  I regret  to  say  this  note  of 
mine  will  not  allay  your  anxiety.  My  dear  child  is  alarm- 
ingly ill;  her  pulse  to-day  is  at  a hundred  and  fifty.  My 
hope  is  this  may  be  the  worst  day,  so  Evans  hopes  also. 
Mr.  Haines  says  her  throat  is  not  worse  to-day  than  yester- 
day, but  God  only  knows  how  it  will  terminate.  I have,  as 
you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  know,  looked  to  this  sweet  infant  as  the 
hope  and  comfort  of  my  old  age;  but  hope  is  futile,  and  on 
what  joy  can  we  reckon  on  this  side  the  grave?  ...  I am 
also  very  anxious  about  the  two  other  little  dears,  who  must 
remain  at  school,  it  being  not  advisable  to  have  them  home 
or  even  away.  All  our  endeavour  is  to  keep  this  most  cruel 
1 Chapter  XV. 


H is  Daughter’s  Illness  183 

disorder  out  of  the  way  of  my  boys.  How  providential  it 
was  that  she  was  not  already  at  home;  she  is  managed  far 
better  where  she  is,  but  it  is  a case  of  hard  necessity,  and 
poor  Roberts  1 is  crying  all  day  at  not  being  able  to  adminis- 
ter to  the  dear  darling  child’s  comfort.  Poor  John  Dun- 
thorne  2 is  getting  daily,  nay  hourly,  worse ; he  cannot  long 
remain  to  me.  I do  not  contemplate  a happy  old  age  even 
if  I should  attain  it.” 

“ June  24th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I send  you  a packet  which 
I had  made  up  last  night  for  Lucas  to  take  to  you,  but  he 
did  not  come.  I think  I have  rather  a better  account  to 
send  you  of  my  little  girl;  it  is  not  impossible  but  the  worst 
is  past.  To-day  her  pulse  is  lessened  and  her  throat  better, 
but  she  is  in  a fearful  state.  It  is  cruel  I cannot  see  her,  and 
it  is  hard  for  the  other  little  girls  that  they  cannot  come 
home;  but  little  Emily  told  Miss  Noble  that  it  was  not 
4 near  so  disagreeable  and  nasty  to  stay  the  holidays  as  she 
expected.  . . ” 

“ June  25th.  Dear  Lucas,  I send  you  the  picture  with 
my  best  hopes  and  wishes,  and  which  I assure  you  are  not 
slight  nor  disinterested;  but  I am  more  anxious  for  your 
sake  than  my  own;  anxious  that  your  enthusiasm  may  not 
be  thrown  away  nor  prove  unpropitious.  My  dear  little  girl 
is  better,  God  be  praised!  and  with  His  blessing  she  may 
recover.  She  got  some  sweet  sleep  yesterday,  but  otherwise 
it  was  my  most  anxious  day,  though  the  fever  was  greatest 
(pulse  one  hundred  and  fifty)  on  Friday.  I am  full  of 
anxiety  about  the  other  two  little  dears,  who  of  necessity 
must  be  left  at  the  school,  but  apart  from  her.” 

The  picture  mentioned  in  this  note  was  the  “ Cornfield,” 
now  in  the  National  Gallery,  which  Mr.  Lucas  undertook  to 
engrave  at  his  own  risk;  the  plate  was  afterwards  purchased 
and  published  with  its  companion,  the  “ Lock,”  by  Mr. 
Moon. 

I received  the  following  letter  at  Brighton:  “ July  6th. 
My  dear  Leslie,  I was  much  delighted  with  your  letter  this 
morning,  and  lose  no  time  in  replying  to  it.  My  dear  child, 
thank  God,  is  wonderfully  recovered;  I can  take  her  away 
safely  to  herself,  though  not  to  others,  next  week.  Which 

1 Her  nurse. 

2 Constable’s  young  friend  had  been  for  some  time  suffering  from 
a disease  of  the  heart. 


Life  of  Constable 


184 

to  do,  I know  not,  take  her  to  Brighton  or  Suffolk.  I fear 
most  for  my  boys.  Poor  dear  John  Dunthorne  is  very  much 
worse ; he  had  several  doctors  with  him  yesterday,  who  have 
relieved  him  a little,  but  this  state  of  things  cannot  last  long. 
It  makes  me  sadly  melancholy;  I shall  lose  a sincere  friend, 
whose  attachment  to  me  has  been  like  that  of  a son,  from 
his  infancy.  He  is  without  fault,  and  so  much  the  fitter  for 
Heaven.  I wake  in  the  night  about  him.  . . . Pray  make 
my  kindest  regards  to  Mrs.  Leslie,  and  God  bless  the  dear 
children ! I trust  you  have  not  thrown  the  lovely  baby  into 
the  sea;  it  has  been  the  ruin  of  thousands  of  young  infants. 
. . . Some  noble  pictures  at  the  Gallery,  along  with  a good 
deal  of  rubbish.” 

“ July  9th.  My  dear  Leslie,  Our  meeting  at  the  Academy 
was  to  address  the  king  on  his  ‘ happy  and  providential 
escape.’ 1 The  plan  of  a new  house  is  quite  flourishing,  and 
at  present  there  is  no  obstacle  save  what  may  be  appre- 
hended from  the  Commons’  House,  it  being  possible  it  may 

be  filled  with  common  minds.  K.  F was  with  me  when 

your  letter  was  put  into  my  hands.  He  seemed  amused  at 
your  mode  of  life;  he,  chivalrous  man,  goes  on 

* Scorning  delights,  living  laborious  days;  ’ 

and  so  far  he  realises  the  poet’s  words,  in  that  he  finds  ‘ no 
guerdon.’  He  is  an  excellent  fellow.  His  drawings  are 
now  before  me,  and  he  certainly  sees  and  feels  the  grandeur 
of  the  great  painters  in  the  Gallery.  I have  presented  him 
with  a set  of  proofs  of  my  work.  I shall  send  my  little  girl 
to  Brighton  as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  be  removed.  Miss 
Noble  will  go  with  her  and  take  charge  of  her,  in  a post- 
chaise,  as  I should  not  like  any  other  dear  child  who  might 
be  in  a stage-coach  to  take  any  harm.  To-day  I thought 
she  looked  like  herself;  this  is  only  the  second  time  of  my 
seeing  her.  The  other  little  prisoners  are  as  yet  well.  . . . 
Evans  is  to  be  married  on  Saturday.  No  man  deserves  more 
happiness,  and  so  far  as  we  short-sighted  mortals  can  promise 
it  to  ourselves,  he  has  every  prospect  of  it;  but  as  Arch- 
deacon Fisher’s  father’s  coachman  told  him,  ‘ It  is  all  a 
mystery,  this  same  matrimony.’  . . . Poor  dear  John  Dun- 
thorne is  so  very  ill,  that  I do  fear  his  time  is  now  short 
indeed.  My  visits  to  him  are  so  melancholy,  that  I do  not 
1 A stone  had  been  thrown  at  the  King  at  Epsom. 


Death  of  Archdeacon  Fisher  185 

get  over  them  all  day;  still  he  works  a little.  A nice  friend 
and  relative  is  now  staying  with  him,  and  this  is  a great 
comfort.” 

While  Constable’s  mind  was  agitated  by  the  near  prospect 
of  losing  John  Dunthorne,  to  whom  he  had  been  a useful 
patron,  having  assisted  to  establish  and  to  procure  him  em- 
ployment as  a picture  cleaner,  he  heard  of  the  death  of  that 
friend  who  had  been  his  own  and  only  patron,  when  patron- 
age was  of  the  greatest  importance  to  him. 

“ September  4th.  My  dear  Leslie,  You  will  be  grieved  to 
hear  that  I have  lost  my  dear  friend,  Archdeacon  Fisher. 
He  went  with  Mrs.  Fisher  to  Boulogne,  hoping  there  to  find 
some  relief  from  a state  of  long  and  severe  suffering.  He 
was  benefited  at  first,  began  to  take  an  interest  in  wThat  was 
about  him,  and  poor  dear  Mrs.  Fisher  was  cheered  with  the 
prospect  of  his  being  speedily  restored  to  health  and  spirits, 
when  on  Friday,  August  24th,  he  was  seized  with  violent 
spasms,  and  died  on  the  afternoon  of  Saturday,  the  25th. 
This  sudden  and  awful  event  has  strongly  affected  me.  The 
closest  intimacy  had  subsisted  between  us  for  many  years; 
we  loved  each  other,  and  confided  in  each  other  entirely, 
and  his  loss  makes  a sad  gap  in  my  wrorldly  prospects.  He 
would  have  helped  my  children,  for  he  was  a good  adviser, 
though  impetuous,  and  he  was  a truly  religious  man.  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  singularly  his  death  has  affected  me. 
I shall  pass  this  week  at  Hampstead,  to  copy  the  ‘ Winter,’ 1 
for  which,  indeed,  my  mind  is  in  a fit  state.  Evans  has 
returned  with  his  nice  bride.” 

Hoping  to  amuse  Constable,  I had  sent  him  a copy  of  a 
small  picture  by  De  Hooge,  of  which  a sunbeam,  and  that 
alone,  may  be  considered  the  subject;  but  it  shines  through 
a window  on  the  wall  of  a clean  little  Dutch  room,  from 
which  it  is  reflected  on  the  return  of  the  wall  and  other 
objects  with  extreme  elegance,  and  a degree  of  truth  perfectly 
illusive. 

“ September  22nd.  My  dear  Leslie,  I came  here  last 
evening,  and  saw  the  pictures.  I am  delighted  with  the 
copy  of  De  Hooge.  How  completely  has  he  overcome  the 
art,  and  trampled  it  under  foot,  yet  how  full  of  art  it  is.  No 
painter  that  ever  lived  could  change  a single  thing  in  it, 
either  in  place,  or  light  or  dark,  or  colour,  warm  or  cold, 
1 By  Ruysdael,  belonging  to  Sir  Robert  Peel. 


1 86 


Life  of  Constable 


Such  things  are  in  short  quite  above  the  art,  and  it  is  a 
blessing  they  are  done.  I must  take  the  De  Hooge  to 
Hampstead.” 

“ October  ist.  Dear  Lucas,  ...  I have  sad  accounts, 
indeed,  of  poor  John  Dunthorne  from  Suffolk.  He  will 
never  see  London  again.  He  is  confined  to  his  bed  and 
cannot  write.” 

“ Dear  Lucas,  I have  added  a Ruin  to  the  little  ‘ Glebe 
Farm,’1 * *  for  not  to  have  a symbol  in  the  book  of  myself,  and 
of  the  work  which  I have  projected,  would  be  missing  the 
opportunity.  The  proof  of  the  new  ‘ Old  Sarum  ’ looks  well 
this  morning,  half-past  seven.  October  2nd,  J.  C.” 

“ November  6th.  My  dear  Lucas,  I go  to  Suffolk  on 
Thursday  to  attend  the  last  scene  of  poor  John  Dunthorne; 
but  he  4 fought  a good  fight,’  and  I think  must  have  left  the 
world  with  as  few  regrets  as  any  man  of  his  age  I ever  met 
with.  . . . His  fond  father,  who  has  been  here  to-day,  is 
gone  back  entirely  broken-hearted ; he  was  so  proud  of  him, 
and  well  he  might  be.  Do  not  cut  the  plate  of  the  new 
‘ Old  Sarum  ’ yet.  I have  touched  another  proof  to-day,  and 
it  looks  so  well,  I think  you  may  like  it,  and  perhaps  adopt 
it.  I did  it  on  seeing  poor  John  Dunthorne’s  rainbow  this 
morning.  . . . They  like  the  ‘ Stonehenge.’  I mean  Leslie, 
and  the  gentleman  who  lectured  on  it,  and  tried  to  prove  it 
antediluvian;  the  thing  was  ingenious.” 

“ Well  Walk,  November  14th.  My  dear  Lucas,  I re- 
turned last  night,  after  seeing  the  last  of  poor  John;  no  one 
can  supply  his  place  with  me.  God’s  will  be  done!  The 
text  of  the  sermon  of  the  Rev.  D.  C.  Rowley  for  poor  John 
was  from  Isaiah,  chap.  iv.  ver.  2 : ‘In  that  day  shall  the 
branch  of  the  Lord  be  beautiful  and  glorious,  and  the  fruit 
of  the  earth  shall  be  excellent  and  comely  for  them  that  are 
•escaped  of  Israel.’  . . . To-day  is  dear  Alfred’s  birthday, 
and  they  have  kept  me  a willing  guest.  ...  An  angry 
neighbour  has  killed  my  fine  black  cat,  who  used  to  call  me 
up  in  the  morning,  but  she  had  been  naughty,  and  killed 
one  of  his  ducks.  ...  In  the  coach  yesterday,  coming 
from  Suffolk,  were  two  gentlemen  and  myself,  all  strangers 

1 This  was  a plate  rejected  by  Constable,  and  which  its  general 

masses  enabled  him  to  turn  into  a view  of  Castle  Acre  Priory.  It 

was  not  published,  though  I believe  he  intended  it,  with  some  other 

plates,  to  form  an  appendix  to  the  book. 


John  Constable,  Jun.  187 

to  each  other.  In  passing  the  vale  of  Dedham,  one  of  them 
remarked,  on  my  saying  it  was  beautiful,  ‘ Yes,  sir,  this  is 
Constable’s  country.’  I then  told  him  who  I was,  lest  he 
should  spoil  it.” 

The  lovely  engraving,  in  the  English  Landscape,  called 
“ Summer  Morning,”  is  a view  of  Dedham  vale,  very  much 
as  it  is  seen  from  the  high  road.  Its  foreground  and  sky 
were  greatly  altered  by  Constable  while  the  plate  was  in 
progress.  The  plough,  the  two  cows,  and  the  milkmaid, 
were  introduced  in  the  place  of  a single  figure  of  a man  with 
a scythe  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Well  Walk,  November  20th.  My  dear  Leslie,  My  man 
is  going  from  here  to  Lucas,  and  I avail  myself  of  the 
opportunity  to  return  the  De  Hooge,  which  has  afforded  me 
much  pleasure.  These  mutual  communications  of  study  are 
a great  help  to  the  happiness  of  life.  ...  I shall  send  my 
god-daughter  Bishop  Horne’s  sermon  on  a kiss  when  she  is 
a little  bigger.1  I was  in  Charlotte  Street,  fortunately, 
yesterday,  when  Newton  called  with  his  wife,  and  was 
pleased  to  see  a lady  so  genteel  and  so  amiable,  and  so  free 
from  affectation  or  false  pride.  ...  It  is  delightful  to  see 
Landseer’s  unaffected  kindness  to  his  sisters.” 

Constable’s  eldest  son  seemed  now  to  have  outgrown  the 
ailments  that  had  caused  so  much  anxiety  to  his  parents,  and 
in  a note  to  me,  dated  December  4th,  he  says,  “ This  is  dear 
John’s  birthday. — Poor  dear  Maria,  if  she  could  see  him 
now!  . . 

“ Charlotte  Street.  My  dear  Leslie,  It  is  long  since  I 
have  seen  you,  or  heard  of  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie;  but  we 
have  got  settled  here  after  the  agony  of  three  days’  moving. 
The  first  detachment  of  my  forces  went  off  with  Roberts, 
and  consisted  of  all  my  boys,  and  a servant  or  two  besides, 
and  I followed  with  my  girls  and  innumerable  boxes — ships 
— dolls — fire  engines — pictures — easels — and  other  useless 
lumber;  and  now  we  are  all  looking  round  with  astonishment 
at  having  been  so  long  away  from  so  comfortable  a house  as 

1 In  the  following  year  he  presented  her  with  the  first  and  best 
book  ever  written  expressly  for  children,  Dr.  Watts'  Songs.  It  is 
illustrated  by  wood-cuts  from  Stothard,  and  Constable  not  only 
coloured  them  very  beautifully,  but  added  some  designs  of  his  own, 
as  a bird  singing  over  its  nest  to  the  song  against  quarrelling,  and  a 
bee  settling  on  a rose  to  that  on  industry;  while  over  the  lines  begin- 
ning, “ Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite,”  he  wrote  with  a pencil, 
“ For  Landseer.’ 


1 8 8 


Life  of  Constable 


this.  I am  in  possession  of  half  a doe,  which  I shall  not  at 
all  enjoy  unless  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  and  your  sister  partake 
of  it.  My  wish  is  to  entrap  Newton  and  his  bride.  I have 
not  been  out  into  the  street  since  my  return,  but  have 
finished,  or  shall  to-morrow,  a small  wood,  and  a head,  both 
commissions  of  long  standing,  and  so  far  I secure  some  peace 
of  mind.  As  to  the  exhibition,  the  ‘ House  that  Jack  built 1 
will  be  enough  to  me.” 

Constable  had  recently  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a 
gentleman  of  his  own  name,  though  not  a relation,  Mr. 
George  Constable  of  Arundel,  and  this  was  the  beginning  of 
a warm  friendship  which  contributed  much  to  the  happiness 
of  the  last  years  of  his  life.  The  next  letter  is  addressed  to 
this  gentleman:  “ Charlotte  Street,  December  14th.  My 
dear  Sir,  I beg  to  send  the  copies  of  my  work  for  your  choice. 
The  proofs  that  are  sealed  have  had  my  close  inspection; 
but  I send  those  you  had  last  evening  to  compare  with  the 
India  ones.  I send  also  the  prints,  which  are  equally  good, 
for  all  are  printed  by  ourselves.1  I should  feel  happy  in 
the  belief  that  my  book  should  ever  remunerate  itself,  for 
I am  gratifying  my  vanity  at  the  expense  of  my  children, 
and  I could  have  wished  that  they  might  have  lived  on 
me,  not  the  reverse.  My  only  consolation  is,  that  my  fortune 
has  not  sheltered  me  in  idleness,  as  my  large  canvases, 
the  dreams  of  a happy  but  unpropitious  life,  will  prove. 
Pray  forgive  the  unreserved  tone  of  this  hasty  scrawl.  I 
remain,  my  dear  sir,  always  your  obliged  servant,  John 
Constable.” 

He  was  now  engaged  on  a portrait  of  Englefield  House, 
Berkshire,  for  its  possessor,  Mr.  Benyon  de  Beauvoir;  and 
of  which,  though  the  subject  was  unpromising,  he  made  a 
beautiful  picture.  The  commission  had  been  obtained  for 
him  by  the  recommendation  of  Mr.  Samuel  Lane. 

“ December  17th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I was  sadly  dis- 
appointed at  missing  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  here  on  Tuesday. 

I am  glad  Bonner  showed  you  what  I am  about  with  the 
house,  as  it  produced  your  very  kind  note.  It  reached  me 
at  tea  time  that  day,  and  before  bed  time  I had  made  all 
the  cows  in  the  foreground  of  the  house  picture  bigger,  and 
put  in  another  bigger  than  all  the  rest.  This  has  had  the 
effect  you  anticipated,  and  sent  the  house  back,  and  also 
1 Mr.  Lucas  had  fitted  up  a press  in  his  own  house. 


Englefield  House  189 

much  recovered  and  helped  to  realise  my  foreground,  which 
indeed  this  blank  canvas  wants  to  aid  it;  but  I must  try 
at  one  of  the  elements,  namely,  air,  and  if  that  include 
light,  I ought  not  to  despair.  What  you  say  generally  of 
my  canvases  is  too  delightful  for  me  to  dispute;  I ought 
to  be  satisfied  that  you  think  so;  to  please  one  person  is  no 
joke,  nowadays.” 


CHAPTER  XIV 
i833 


Messrs.  Chalon.  The  Palette  Knife.  Mr.  Seguier.  Mr.  Beauchamp’s 
Establishment.  Picture  of  the  Cenotaph  erected  by  Sir  G.  Beau- 
mont to  the  Memory  of  Reynolds.  Constable  visited  by  a Con- 
noisseur. Lady  Morley.  Letters  to  Mr.  George  Constable. 
Stothard.  Letter  to  Mr.  Thomas  Dunthorne.  Exhibition  at  the 
Royal  Academy.  Picture  of  “ Englefield  House.”  Allusion  to  the 
Loss  of  the  Abergavenny , Captain  Wordsworth.  The  Author’s 
Visit  to  America.  Constable’s  First  Lecture  on  the  History  of 
Landscape.  Captain  Cook.  Letters  to  Mr.  George  Constable. 
Notes  to  Mr.  Lucas.  Picture  of  “ Waterloo  Bridge.” 

“ My  dear  Leslie.  ...  I called  on  the  Chalons;  John’s 
landscape  is  very  promising,  one  of  his  best.  As  to  Alfred’s 
‘ Samson,’  it  is  just  what  Paul  Veronese  would  have  made 
it,  if  he  could  have  combined  expression  with  colour;  it  is 
full  of  power,  full  of  splendour.  They  are  both  adopting 
the  palette  knife,  while  I have  laid  it  down,  but  not  till  I 
had  cut  my  own  throat  with  it.  The  Dalilah  is  lovely  in  her 
supplicating  posture.  January  7th,  1833.” 

The  dexterity  with  which  Constable  used  the  palette  knife 
has  been  mentioned,  and  when  he  speaks  of  having  “ cut  his 
own  throat  with  it,”  he  alludes  to  a recent  charge  brought 
against  his  pictures,  that  they  consisted  “ only  of  palette 
knife  painting.”  But  if  he  had  now  laid  the  knife  down,  he 
very  soon  took  it  up  again. 

“ January  nth,  1833.  My  dear  Leslie,  ...  I have  had 
a friendly  visit  from  a much  greater  man  than  the  Duke  of 
Bedford — Lord  Westminster — Lord  Egremont — the  presi- 
dent of  the  Royal  Academy — or  even  the  king  himself, — 
Mr.  Seguier ! 1 He  seemed  rather  astonished  to  find  so 
good  an  appearance,  or  rather,  an  appearance  so  far  beyond 
his  expectation,  and  bestowed  much  praise,  such  as,  ‘ Did 
you  do  this  ? really ! Who  made  that  drawing,  you  ? really ! 
very  good  indeed.’  . . . John  Chalon  has  spread  a report 

1 Mr.  Seguier  was  supposed  to  be  the  principal  director  of  the  taste 
of  the  nobility  and  gentry  in  all  that  related  to  pictures.  He  was  a 
good-natured  and  honest  man. 


190 


Mr.  Beauchamp’s  Establishment  191 

respecting  myself  that  has  reached  me  from  two  or  three 
quarters  much  to  my  advantage,  namely,  that  he  actually 
saw  four  small  sable  pencils  in  my  hand,  and  that  I was 
bond  fide  using  them  in  the  art  of  painting.  ...  I must 

give  up on  Saturday  morning,  as  I have  much  to  do 

to  the  great  ‘ Salisbury,’  and  am  hard  run  for  it.  I have 

written  to  to  beg  off  hearing  for  the  hundredth  time 

that  his  are  the  best  pictures  in  the  world.” 

I had  introduced  Constable  to  Mr.  Beauchamp,  to  whose 
manufactory  of  British  plate  in  Holborn  he  paid  a visit  with 
his  sons,  of  which  he  gave  me  the  following  amusing  account: 
“ January  20th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I went  with  John  and 
Charles  to  Mr.  Beauchamp’s  last  evening;  their  delight  was 
great,  not  only  at  the  very  great  kindness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  and  their  boys,  but  at  the  sight  of  all  that  was 
to  their  heart’s  content;  forges — smelting  pots — metals — 
turning  lathes — straps  and  bellows — coals — ashes — dust — 
dirt  — and  cinders;  and  everything  else  that  is  agreeable 
to  boys.  They  want  me  to  build  them  just  such  a place 
under  my  painting-room;  and  had  I not  better  do  so,  and 
give  up  landscape  painting  altogether?  Poor  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ was  suffering  with  the  tooth-ache,  but  her  politeness 
made  her  assure  me  that  I succeeded  in  talking  it  off. 

“ I have  called  on  poor . I did  not  think  his  things 

were  quite  so  bad.  They  pretend  to  nothing  but  an  imita- 
tion of  nature;  but  then  it  is  of  the  coldest  and  meanest 
kind.  He  is  immersed  in  white  lead,  and  oil,  and  black,  all 
of  which  he  dashes  about  the  canvas  without  the  smallest 
remorse.  All  is,  thence,  utterly  heartless.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  February  13th.  Dear  Leslie,  . . . 
May  I beg  of  you  to  let  your  servant  take  the  little  parcel  to 
Edwin  Landseer;  it  is  my  first  number,  in  which  is  the 
‘ Mill  ’ he  wanted.  I have  sent  it  with  the  four  other  prints, 
which  is  like  getting  rid  of  a bad  shilling  among  half-pence.” 

In  a note  to  me,  not  dated,  but  written  in  the  early  part 
of  this  year,  Constable  says,  “ I have  laid  by  the  ‘ Cenotaph  ’ 1 
for  the  present.  I am  determined  not  to  harass  my  mind 
and  health  by  scrambling  over  my  canvas  as  I have  too  often 
done.  Why  should  I?  I have  little  to  lose  and  nothing 
to  gain.  I ought  to  respect  myself  for  my  friends’  sake,  and 

1 He  had  begun  a picture  of  the  cenotaph  erected  by  Sir  George 
Beaumont  to  the  memory  of  Reynolds. 


192  Life  of  Constable 

my  children’s.  It  is  time,  at  fifty-six,  to  begin,  at  least,  to 
know  oneself, — and  I do  know  what  I am  not  ...”  He 
then  speaks  of  the  qualities  at  which  he  chiefly  aimed  in  his 
pictures, — “ light — dews — breezes — bloom — and  freshness; 
not  one  of  which,”  he  adds,  “ has  yet  been  perfected  on  the 
canvas  of  any  painter  in  the  world.” 

“ April  2nd.  Dear  Leslie,  Do  not  pass  my  door  if  you 
come  to  town.  I have  brushed  up  my  £ Cottage  ’ into  a 
pretty  look,  and  my  ‘ Heath  ’ is  almost  safe,  but  I must 
stand  or  fall  by  my  ‘ House.’  I had  on  Friday  a long  visit 

from  Mr. alone;  but  my  pictures  do  not  come  into  his 

rules  or  whims  of  the  art,  and  he  said  I had  ‘ lost  my  way.’ 
I told  him  that  I had,  £ perhaps,  other  notions  of  art  than 
picture  admirers  have  in  general.  I looked  on  pictures  as 
things  to  be  avoided,  connoisseurs  looked  on  them  as  things  to 
be  imitated  ; and  that,  too,  with  such  a deference  and  humble- 
ness of  submission,  amounting  to  a total  prostration  of  mind 
and  original  feeling,  as  must  serve  only  to  fill  the  world  with 
abortions.’  But  he  was  very  agreeable,  and  I endured  the 
visit,  I trust,  without  the  usual  courtesies  of  life  being 
violated. — What  a sad  thing  it  is  that  this  lovely  art  is  so 
wrested  to  its  own  destruction ! Used  only  to  blind  our  eyes, 
and  to  prevent  us  from  seeing  the  sun  shine — the  fields 
bloom — the  trees  blossom — and  from  hearing  the  foliage 
rustle;  while  old — black — rubbed  out  and  dirty  canvases 
take  the  place  of  God’s  own  works.  I long  to  see  you.  I 
love  to  cope  with  you,  like  Jaques,  in  my  £ sullen  moods,’ 
for  I am  not  fit  for  the  present  world  of  art.  . . . Lady 
Morley  was  here  yesterday.  On  seeing  the  £ House,’  she 
exclaimed,  £ How  fresh,  how  dewy,  how  exhilarating ! ’ I 
told  her  half  of  this,  if  I could  think  I deserved  it,  was  worth 
all  the  talk  and  cant  about  pictures  in  the  world.” 

Constable  often  did  himself  harm  by  attempting  to  set 
right  those  whom  he  might  have  known,  from  the  very  con- 
stitution of  their  minds,  it  was  impossible  to  set  right,  in 
matters  of  taste.  Such  strong  expressions,  as  those  men- 
tioned in  the  last  letter,  though  easily  comprehended  by  the 
few  who  understood  his  views  of  art,  only  gained  him  the 
character  of  a dealer  in  paradox  with  those  who  did  not. 
An  affronted  taste  is  very  unforgiving,  and  he  not  only 
wasted  his  time,  but  too  often  made  enemies  by  attempting 
to  ££  cut  blocks  with  a razor.” 


Mr.  Stothard 


*93 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  April  12th.  My  dear  Sir, 
I am  delighted  to  hear  of  the  steady  improvement  of  your 
health,  and  I most  sincerely  hope  it  will  continue  to  improve  ; 
the  coming  season  is  in  your  favour.  I have  always  heard 
of  the  autumn  being  the  painter's  season,  but  give  me  the 
spring,  though 

* With  tears  and  sunshine  in  her  fickle  eyes.’ 

I send  the  drawing  by  Varley,  and  I venture  to  accompany  it 

with  two  others;  they  all  belonged  to  my  poor  friend  , 

who  died  in  the  autumn,  leaving  a widow  and  dear  little 
girl;  the  disposal  of  these  drawings  would  essentially  serve 
them.  That  by  Varley  is  six  pounds,  the  others  two  pounds 
each;  they  would  be  pretty  accompaniments  to  the  ‘ Curfew  ’ 
on  a mantel-piece;  they  are  by  Ziegler.  ...  I beg  my 
best  compliments  to  Mrs.  Constable,  and  believe  me,  my  dear 
sir,  with  sincere  regards,  yours  truly,  John  Constable.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  April  17  th.  My  dear  Sir, 
Accept  my  best  thanks  for  your  very  kind  letter  which  I 
received  this  morning,  enclosing  ten  pounds,  which  with 

great  pleasure  I transmitted  to  Mrs.  . I feel  assured 

your  friend  will  never  repent  the  possession  of  those  very 
beautiful  drawings.  I hear  the  Exhibition  will  be  excellent; 
the  quantity  sent  exceeds  all  precedent;  Wilkie  and  Leslie 
are  strong,  Phillips  and  the  president  are  strong,  Landseer  is 
strong,  and  so  on;  but  perhaps  you  wish  me  to  speak  of 
myself;  Constable  is  weak  this  year.  We  shall  probably  all 
know  our  fate  on  Thursday  se’nnight,  and  the  public  may 
sabre  us  at  their  pleasure  on  the  first  Monday  in  May.  . . . 
I passed  an  hour  or  two  with  Mr.  Stothard  on  Sunday  evening. 
Poor  man!  the  only  elysium  he  has  in  this  world  is  found 
in  his  own  enchanting  works.  His  daughter  does  all  in  her 
power  to  make  him  happy  and  comfortable.  Lucas  has 
been  so  busy  about  the  portrait  of  Sir  Charles  Clark,  that 
till  now  he  could  not  take  up  my  appendix,  which  I shall  be 
happy  to  present  to  you  when  ready.  I am,  my  dear  sir, 
always  your  obliged  friend,  John  Constable.” 

“ To  Mr.  Thomas  Dunthorne.1  April  19th.  Dear  Sir.  I 
was  prepared  to  receive  the  melancholy  account  of  the  death 
of  poor  Mrs.  Folkard,2  which  Mr.  Wright  has  just  told  me  of. 

1 Brother  of  Constable’s  early  friend,  J.  Dunthorne,  Senr. 

2 A daughter  of  J.  Dunthorne,  Senr. 

N 


194  Life  of  Constable 

How  truly  melancholy  is  the  history  of  all  this  excellent 
family!  How  well  I remember  the  birth  of  all  of  them — 
Ann,  James,  poor  John,  and  Hannah; — little  thinking  I 
should  live  to  lament  the  death  of  every  one.  My  poor  old 
friend,  the  father  of  this  hapless  race,  must  be  in  a fearful 
condition.  But  since  the  death  of  poor  John  I well  know 
he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  everything  that  can  happen. 
He  now  neither  cares  to  stay  or  go.  He  told  me  he  did  not 
care  how  soon  he  was  laid  in  the  same  grave  with  poor  John.1 
There  seemed  an  unsoundness  in  the  constitution  of  all; 
from  the  mother  probably.  There  has  been  a young  lady 
here  to  enquire  for  John,  to  whom  he  gave  lessons.  She 
wished  to  know  if  anything  was  owing  to  him,  and  had  he 
been  living,  to  have  had  more  lessons.  . . . With  the 
kindest  regards,  I am  truly  yours,  J.  Constable.” 

“ April.  Dear  Leslie.  I send  Pitt  to  know  how  you  are 

all  getting  on.  R assured  me  that and  all  of  them 

did  all  in  their  power  to  help  me  to  a change  of  the  place  of 
my  picture,  but  could  not  manage  it.  They  have  immense 
trouble  this  year,  but  I am  easy  now,  and  they  all  say  it 

looks  very  well.  But  S and  H are  so  strictly 

academical  that  they  deny  the  painter  the  power  of  making 
a picture  out  of  nothing,  or  out  of  a subject  not  to  their  liking, 
though  they  do  not  deny  it  to  the  poet.  The  frames  have 
annoyed  them  beyond  measure,  and  the  cold-blooded  selfish- 
ness of  more  than  all.  The  council  have  written  to 

him  two  mild  letters  entreating  to  change  a monstrous  piece 
of  gilded  wood,  as  it  ruined  the  hopes  of  at  least  five  others 
who  only  look  for  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  Academic 
table,  while  at  the  same  time  it  spoiled  his  own  picture, — 

but  he  would  not  comply.  ’s  frames  are  shameful,  or 

rather  shameless.  The  council  are  determined  to  regulate 
these  things  next  year.  My  “ Heath  ” is  admired,  and  is 
well  placed.” 

“ Dear  Leslie.  I send  to  know  how  your  dear  family  and 
yourself  get  on.  . . . John  Chalon  has  just  been  here.  He 
is  full  of  anxiety  about  his  picture.  I told  him  I would 
change  places  with  him  at  a venture.  . . . Thank  you, 
dear  Leslie,  for  your  kind  note. — One  ambition  I will  hold 

fast.  I am  determined  never  to  deserve  the  praise  of  S , 

H , C , D , W R- , etc.,  etc.,  etc.” 

1 Mr.  Dunthorne  survived  until  October  1844. 


“ Weymouth  Bay  ” 


1 95 

Constable’s  pictures  at  the  Academy,  this  year,  were 
“ Englefield  House,  Berkshire,  morning;”  a “Heath, 
showery,  noon;”  “Cottage  in  a Cornfield;”  “Landscape, 
sunset,”  and  three  drawings  in  water  colours,  namely,  “ An 
old  Farmhouse,”  “ A Miller’s  House,”  and  “ A Windmill, 
squally  day.” 

“ May  14th.  Dear  Lane.  Thank  you  for  your  admira- 
tion of  my  book;  the  intention  is  good.  I wish  it  gave  me 
the  same  unalloyed  pleasure;  but  the  extravagant,  useless, 
and  silly  expenditure  I have  been  led  into  distracts  me,  now 
that  the  hour  of  reflection  is  come.  . . . The  Morning 

Post  speaks  beautifully  of  my  ‘ House.’  S told  me  it 

was  ‘ only  a picture  of  a house , and  ought  to  have  been  put 
into  the  Architectural  Room.’  I told  him  it  was  * a picture 
of  a summer  morning,  including  a house.1  ” 

Mrs.  Leslie  had  seen  in  Charlotte  Street  a proof  impression 
of  the  “ Weymouth  Bay,”  in  some  respects  imperfect,  but 
in  others  very  beautiful,  and  had  expressed  a wish  to  have 
it,  to  which  I objected,  thinking  it  was  of  value  to  Constable. 
He  sent  it  the  next  day  with  the  following  note:  “ Dear 
Mrs.  Leslie.  I have  no  idea  that  husbands  should  control 
their  wives,  any  more  than  that  wives  should  control  their 
husbands,  at  least,  in  trifles;  I therefore  make  no  scruple 
to  send  you  what  is  good  for  nothing.  It  is,  I hope,  a suffi- 
cient excuse  for  me  that  you  expressed  a wish  for  it,  and  I 
felt  at  the  same  time  assured  that  its  being  useless  was  the 
reason  of  your  doing  so;  thus  * much  ado  about  nothing.’ 
I shall  now,  to  give  value  to  the  fragment  I send  you,  apply 
to  it  a line  of  Wordsworth: 

‘ This  sea  in  anger,  and  that  dismal  shore.’ 1 

I think  of  Wordsworth,  for  on  that  spot  perished  his  brother 
in  the  wreck  of  the  Abergavenny .” 

That  Constable’s  next  note  may  be  understood,  I must 
mention  that  I contemplated  taking  my  family  to  America, 
with  the  probability  of  remaining  there. 

“ June  nth.  My  dear  Leslie.  As  it  may  not  be  ordained 
that  I write  to  you  again  on  my  birthday  (at  least  in  England), 
I cannot  omit  the  occasion,  though  the  pleasure  is  a melan- 

1 From  “ Elegiac  Stanzas,  suggested  by  a picture  of  Peele  Castle, 
in  a storm,  painted  by  Sir  George  Beaumont.”  The  death  of  Captain 
Wordsworth  is  also  alluded  to,  in  another  most  affecting  poem,  by  his 
brother,  addressed  “ To  the  Daisy.” 


196  Life  of  Constable 

choly  one  in  every  way  to  me.  . . . The  loss  of  you  is  a 
cloud  casting  its  shade  over  my  life,  now  in  its  autumn.  I 
never  did  admire  the  autumnal  tints,  even  in  nature,  so 
little  of  a painter  am  I in  the  eye  of  common-place  connois- 
seurship.  I love  the  exhilarating  freshness  of  spring.  My 
kindest  regards  to  Mrs.  Leslie;  I hope  all  your  children  are 
well.  . . . Remember  I play  the  part  of  Punch  on  Monday 
at  eight,  at  the  assembly-room  at  Hampstead.” 

“ The  part  of  Punch  ” alludes  to  his  first  appearance  as  a 
lecturer.  His  subject  was  “ An  outline  of  the  History  of 
Landscape  Painting,”  which  he  afterwards  filled  up  in  a 
course  of  four  lectures  delivered  in  London. 

“ June.  Dear  Leslie.  . . . My  godchild  is  a delightful 
little  creature,  and  I shall  be  glad  to  live  long,  if  it  is  only  to 
cross  the  Atlantic  to  give  her  away.  When  Captain  Cook 
stood  sponsor  for  a little  girl  in  Barking  Church,  he  said, 
‘ If  this  infant  lives,  I will  marry  her;  ’ he  fulfilled  his  pro- 
mise, and  she  was  living  until  lately.  Only  think  of  the 
vicissitudes  of  life;  what  may  we  not  hope  and  almost 
expect?  you  may  return.  Don’t  separate  any  ties  in  this 
country.  Keep  your  diploma.” 

“Well  Walk,  August  16th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I have 
wished  much  to  write  to  you.  I have  not  thanked  you  for 
your  long  and  delightful  letter,  but  I am  not  now  so  much 
master  of  that  cceur  dejoie  which  used  to  cheer  me,  especially 
when  I took  pen  in  hand  to  write  to  you.  The  thought  that 
I am  to  be  deprived  of  the  consolations  of  your  and  Mrs. 
Leslie’s  society — of  such  happy  hours  as  you  and  I have 
passed  together — and  of  our  communications  on  art,  and 
everything  else,  weighs  heavy  on  me;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
as  to  depress  my  mind,  and  prevent  the  enjoyment  of  even 
the  little  that  remains  of  our  personal  intercourse;  this  is 
not  right  on  my  part,  I know. 

“ I had  a delightful  visit  into  Suffolk.  We  ranged  the 
woods  and  fields,  and  searched  the  crag-pits  for  shells,  and 
the  bones  and  teeth  of  fossil  animals  for  John;  and  Charles 
made  drawings,  and  I did  nothing  at  all,  but  I felt  happy  to 
see  them  enjoy  themselves.  All  my  family  were  very  kind 
to  the  boys.  ...  I have  just  lost  a valuable  Suffolk  friend, 
Sir  Thomas  Ormsby,  who  would  have  served  me  always. 
He  was  son-in-law  to  General  Rebow,  an  old  friend  of  my 
father’s;  thus  I am  almost  daily  bereft  of  some  friend  or 


Mr.  George  Constable’s  Accident  197 

other.  ...  I am  glad  you  are  going  to  Lord  Egremont’s; 
he  is  really  a great  patron  of  art.  ...  I can  hardly  write 
for  looking  at  the  silvery  clouds;  how  I sigh  for  that  peace 
(to  paint  them)  which  this  world  cannot  give  (to  me  at 
least).  Yet  well  I know  ‘ happiness  is  to  be  found  anywhere 
or  nowhere ; ’ but  this  last  year,  though,  thank  God,  attended 
with  no  calamity,  has  been  most  unpropitious  to  my  happi- 
ness. To  part  with  my  dear  John  is  breaking  my  heart, 
but  I am  told  it  is  for  his  good.” 

Constable’s  two  eldest  sons  were  about  to  leave  him  for  a 
school  at  Folkstone. 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Well  Walk,  December  9th. 
My  dear  Sir.  I am  grieved  at  the  letter  I have  received 
from  you.  To  have  had  such  a serious  accident,1  and  at  a 
time,  too,  when  your  health  was  so  much  improving,  is 
extremely  distressing,  as  it  must  prevent  your  general  habits 
of  enjoying  the  air,  and  of  exercise.  Gigs  are  bad  things, 
one  is  so  much  at  the  mercy  of  the  horse.  I hope,  however, 
from  the  almost  cheerful  tone  in  which  you  have  dictated 
your  letter,  that  all  will  do  well  with  you,  and  that  your 
next  letter  will  bring  satisfactory  accounts ; at  least,  that  the 
inflammation  is  gone,  and  the  bone  set.  The  former  is 
much  within  the  reach  of  the  professors,  our  friends  of  the 
ditches,  the  leeches.  These  humble  creatures  have  the 
power  and  the  will,  too,  to  render  mankind  essential  benefits ; 
and  this  grateful  argument  will  hold  good  of  everything  in 
nature,  more  or  less.  I have  been  sadly  ill,  and  during  the 
last  week,  particularly  so,  still  I have  ventured  to  embark 
on  a large  canvas,  and  have  thus  set  forth  on  a sea  of  trouble, 
but  it  is  a sea  that  generally  becalms  as  I proceed;  I have 
chosen  a rich  subject.  . . . To-morrow  I pass  a long  even- 
ing at  the  Academy;  the  ioth  being  its  anniversary.  We 
give  the  prizes  for  all  kinds  of  art.  I lament  to  say  we  must 
give  away  an  abundance  of  our  beautiful  medals  to  little 
purpose.  How  are  we  to  account  for  this?  perhaps  as 
Fuseli  once  told  me,  ‘ as  the  conveniences  and  instruments 
of  study  increase,  so  will  always  the  exertions  of  the  students 
decrease.’  Now,  my  dear  sir,  how  can  I oblige  you,  or 
contribute  to  your  amusement  during  your  sad  calamity? 
Can  I send  you  anything  to  look  at?  ” 

1 Mr.  G.  Constable  had  been  thrown  out  of  a gig,  and  his  left  arm 
was  broken  above  the  elbow. 


Life  of  Constable 


198 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Well  Walk,  Hampstead, 
December  17th.  My  dear  Sir,  I would  not  have  kept  you 
so  long  in  suspense,  had  it  been  in  my  power  to  do  other- 
wise ; but  I can’t  get  well.  I have  been  long  in  a disordered 
state  of  health,  and  my  spirits  are  not  as  they  used  to  be.  I 
have  not  an  idea  that  I shall  be  able  to  part  with  the  ‘ Salis- 
bury; 11  the  price  will  of  necessity  be  a very  large  one,  for 
the  time  expended  on  it  was  enormous  for  its  size.  I am 
also  unwilling  to  part  with  any  of  my  standard  pictures;  they 
being  all  points  with  me  in  my  practice,  and  will  much 
regulate  my  future  productions,  should  I do  any  more  large 
works.  The  picture  by  Cuyp  which  you  send  is  agreeable, 
and  its  colour  and  sunshine  will  no  doubt  please  many;  I 
wish  not,  however,  to  add  any  more  old  pictures  to  my  stock. 
If  you  wish  for  any  information  about  its  money  value,  I 
can  get  some  professional  friends  to  see  it;  of  that  I am  no 
judge;  I only  know  good  from  bad  things  in  art,  and  that 
goes  but  little  way  in  being  of  use  to  my  friends.  I shall 
greatly  rejoice  to  hear  that  you  are  so  far  recovered  as  to  be 
out  again.  I will  look  for  some  little  matters  to  return  with 
the  Cuyp,  when  you  desire  to  have  it.” 

“ To  Mr.  John  Constable.  Arundel,  December  18th. 
...  I sincerely  wish  I could  prevail  on  you  to  take  a trip 
to  Arundel,  I am  sure  you  would  derive  great  benefit  from 
it.  I am  from  experience  quite  satisfied  that  the  occasional 
removal  from  the  monotony  of  domestic  scenes  and  circum- 
stances is  very  beneficial  both  to  mind  and  body.  . . . 
Respecting  one  of  your  pictures,  I shall  certainly  do  my 
utmost  to  possess  what  I think  your  best  in  some  respects, 
the  ‘ Salisbury  Cathedral;  ’ but  more  on  this  subject  when  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  Could  you  without  much 
trouble  enclose  me  a bit  of  your  sparkling  colour  to  copy,  I 
should  be  more  than  I can  express  obliged.  I am,  my  dear 
sir,  your  sincere  friend,  George  Constable.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Well  Walk,  Hampstead, 
December  20th.  My  dear  friend.  I thank  you  most  sin- 
cerely for  your  kind  and  friendly  letter.  I am  sadly  out  of 
order,  but  you  seem  determined  that  I shall  not  knock  under. 
I am  too  unwell  to  go  to  town,  but  my  friend  Bonner  has 
just  set  off  to  Charlotte  Street  to  pack  your  picture  and 

1 One  of  his  repetitions  of  the  beautiful  picture  of  the  “ Cathedral 
from  the  Bishop’s  Grounds.” 


Picture  by  Cuyp  199 

forward  it;  it  is  a beautiful  representation  of  a summer’s 
evening;  calm,  warm,  and  delicious;  the  colour  on  the  man’s 
face  is  perfect  sunshine.  The  liquid  pencil  of  this  school  is 
replete  with  a beauty  peculiar  to  itself.  Nevertheless,  I don’t 
believe  they  had  any  nostrums,  but  plain  linseed  oil;  £ honest 
linseed ,’  as  old  Wilson  called  it.  But  it  is  always  right  to 
remember  that  the  ordinary  painters  of  that  day  used,  as 
now,  the  same  vehicle  as  their  betters,  and  also  that  their 
works  have  all  received  the  hardening  and  enamelling  effects 
of  time,  so  that  we  must  not  judge  of  originality  by  these 
signs  always.  Still  your  picture  has  a beautiful  look;  but 
I shall  not  collect  any  more.  I have  sent  most  of  my  old 
men  to  Mr.  Davidson’s  gallery  in  Pall  Mall  to  be  sold.  I 
find  my  house  too  much  encumbered  with  lumber,  and  this 
encumbers  my  mind.  My  sons  are  returned  from  Folks  tone 
for  Christmas.  John  is  delighted  with  the  collection  1 you 
have  sent  him;  he  says  they  are  very  valuable  indeed,  and 
he  highly  prizes  them.  To  me  these  pieces  of  ‘ time-mangled 
matter  ’ are  interesting  for  the  tale  they  tell ; but  above  all, 
I esteem  them  as  marks  of  regard  to  my  darling  boy,  the 
darling,  too,  of  his  dear  mother.” 

Perhaps  the  following  notes  to  Mr.  Lucas,  without  date, 
may  not  be  far  from  their  proper  place  here. 

“ Dear  Lucas.  Poor,  infatuated  printer,  2 has  done 

nothing  for  me  for  three  weeks:  not  a single  India  copy  nor 
one  plain  one  can  I get.  But  he  has  sent  me  a large  piece 
of  wedding-cake,  and  this,  too,  just  as  he  has  been  begging 
assistance  to  buy  bread  and  butter ! The  devil  undoubtedly 
finds  much  fun  in  this  town,  or  we  never  should  hear  of  such 
acts  of  exceeding  folly.” 

“ Dear  Lucas.  All  who  have  seen  your  large  print  like  it 
exceedingly;  it  will  be,  with  all  its  grandeur,  full  of  detail. 
Avoid  the  foot-bag,  and  you  are  safe;  Rembrandt  had  no- 
foot-bag, you  may  rely  on  it.  Be  careful  how  you  etch  it,, 
that  you  do  not  hurt  the  detail;  but  there  is  time  enough. 
I hope  you  will  not  injure  your  family  by  so  large  a print.” 

“ Dear  Lucas.  I should  .think  the  ‘ Yarmouth  ’ would 
make  by  far  the  best  companion  to  ‘ Old  Sarum.’  At  the 
same  time  ‘ Old  Billy  Lott’s  House,’  if  it  could  be  regrounded 
at  the  sides,  is  a lovely  subject.  The  Lord  Mayor’s  Show,  I 

1 Of  fossils. 

2 The  printer  of  the  letterpress  to  the  English  Landscape. 


200 


Life  of  Constable 


do  believe,  is  too  good  a joke  to  be  received  into  our  church. 
Nothing  can  make  it  either  apostolic  or  canonical,  so  uncon- 
genial is  any  part  of  this  hideous  Gomorrah.  J.  C. — And 
yet,  after  all,  the  ‘ Waterloo  ’ is  a famous  composition,  and 
ought  to  give  much  pleasure; — but  it  is  the  devil, — and  I 
am  sore  perplexed.” 

By  the  “ Lord  Mayor’s  Show  ” he  means  the  “ Opening 
of  Waterloo  Bridge  ” (his  lordship’s  barge  being  a conspicu- 
ous object  on  that  picture). — The  reader  cannot  fail  to  have 
observed  how  uncertain  Constable  always  felt  of  the  success 
of  this  composition.  In  the  year  1819,  it  first  entered  his 
mind  to  paint  it;  and  between  that  time  and  1832  (when  it 
was  exhibited)  it  was  often  taken  up  and  as  often  laid  aside, 
with  many  alternations  of  hope  and  fear.  The  expanse  of 
sky  and  water  tempted  him  to  go  on  with  it,  while  the 
absence  of  all  rural  associations  made  it  distasteful  to  him; 
and  when  at  last  it  came  forth,  though  possessing  very  high 
qualities, — composition,  breadth,  and  brightness  of  colour, 
it  wanted  one  which  generally  constituted  the  greatest  charm 
of  his  pictures — sentiment , — and  it  was  condemned  by  the 
public;  though  perhaps  less  for  a deficiency  which  its  sub- 
ject occasioned,  than  for  its  want  of  finish.  What  would  he 
have  felt,  could  he  foresee  that,  in  little  more  than  a year 
after  his  death,  its  silvery  brightness  was  doomed  to  be 
clouded  by  a coat  of  blacking , laid  on  by  the  hand  of  a 
picture  dealer! — Yet  that  this  was  done,  by  way  of  giving 
tone  to  the  picture,  I know  from  the  best  authority,  the  lips 
of  the  operator,  who  gravely  assured  me  that  several  noble- 
men considered  it  to  be  greatly  improved  by  the  process. 
The  blacking  was  laid  on  with  water,  and  secured  by  a coat 
of  mastic  varnish. 


CHAPTER  XV 
1834-1835 

Illness  of  Constable  and  his  eldest  son.  Death  of  Lady  Beechey. 
Constable  ill  again.  Mr.  Purton.  Pictures  at  the  British  Gallery 
and  at  the  Academy  1834.  Visit  to  Arundel.  Mr.  George  Con- 
stable. Petworth.  Lord  Egremont.  Large  Picture  of  “ Salisbury 
Cathedral.”  Lady  Dysart.  Gainsborough.  Ham  House.  Pic- 
tures there.  Cuyp.  Visit  to  Petworth.  Cowdry  Castle.  Old 
Mills.  Barns.  Farm  Houses.  Constable’s  Habits.  Conflagra- 
tion of  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  Large  Picture  of  “ Salisbury 
Cathedral.”  Wilkie’s  “ Columbus.”  Picture  called  “ The  Valley 
Farm  ” exhibited  at  the  Academy,  1835,  and  purchased  by  Mr. 
Vernon.  Cozens.  Pictures  by  David.  Second  Lecture  at  Hamp- 
stead. Attacks  on  the  Academy.  Committee  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  etc.  Charles  Constable.  Mr.  Vernon’s  Picture. 
Bryan’s  Dictionary. 

“ Well  Walk,  January  20th,  1834.  My  dear  Leslie.  I have 
been  sadly  ill  since  you  left  England,  and  my  mind  has  been 
so  much  depressed,  that  I have  scarcely  been  able  to  do 
any  one  thing,  and  in  that  state  I did  not  like  to  write  to 
you.  I am  now,  however,  busy  on  a large  landscape;  I 
find  it  of  use  to  myself,  though  little  noticed  by  others. 
Still  the  trees  and  the  clouds  seem  to  ask  me  to  try  and  do 
something  like  them.  Poor  John  has  been  very  ill;  walking 
in  his  sleep  at  school,  he  fell  and  brought  on  erysipelas; 
he  was  six  weeks  in  bed,  and  on  his  return  to  Hampstead 
for  the  holidays,  he  took  a rheumatic  fever,  and  was  con- 
fined for  a month.  I do  not  think  I shall  send  the  boys 
again  to  Folkestone.  Bonner  is  still  with  me,  and  Alfred 
and  Lionel  are  getting  on  in  their  studies  with  him.  ...  I 
dined  with  Mr.  Bannister,  who  is  much  delighted  with  your 
print  of  ‘Uncle  Toby  and  the  Widow.’1  . . . Poor  Sir 
William  Beechey  has  lost  Lady  Beechey;  she  was  taken  ill 
on  a Saturday,  and  died  the  next  day;  but  so  happy  a 
death,  it  was  more  like  a translation;  she  said,  ‘ Now  I have 
no  more  to  do  or  to  say.  I have  done  my  best  for  you  all 
here,  and  I will  go  and  see  my  three  dear  children  in  Heaven ; ’ 
those  she  had  lost  early.  . . . The  Chalons  were  here  on  the 
1 Mr.  Bannister  sat  for  the  face  of  Uncle  Toby. 

201 


202 


Life  of  Constable 

Heath  for  six  weeks,  and  it  was  delightful  weather.  ...  I 
have  been  busy  in  making  a fly-leaf  to  each  of  my  prints, 
and  I send  a specimen  or  two  that  are  ready,  to  know  what 
you  think  of  that  plan.  Many  people  can  read  letterpress 
who  cannot  read  mezzotinto.  I shall  send  you  my  discourse. 
They  want  me  to  preach  again  in  the  same  place.  ...  I 
dine  with  Sir  Martin  to-morrow;  Chalon  will  be  there.” 

Constable  had  another,  and  very  painful  illness,  which  is 
thus  described  by  Mr.  Evans  in  a note  addressed  to  Mr.  Wm. 
Purton  of  Hampstead : “It  was  a severe  attack  of  acute 

rheumatism  (or  rheumatic  fever,  as  it  is  usually  called), 
which  began  in  February,  and  lasted  for  the  greater  part  of 
two  months.  In  the  early  part  of  this  period  the  suffering 
was  very  great;  all  the  joints  became  the  seat  of  the  disease 
two  or  three  times  over,  and  the  pain  and  fever  were  of  the 
most  aggravated  kind.  These  sufferings  he  bore  with  great 
patience  for  one  of  so  sensitive  a frame;  and  on  the  occasion 
of  my  visits  to  him,  his  cheerfulness  was  generally  restored, 
and  his  conversation  was  of  the  same  delightful  character 
which  you  know  so  well.  I only  wish  I could  recollect  all 
that  I heard  from  his  lips  on  these  and  all  similar  occasions. 
I think  he  was  never  so  well  after  this  severe  illness;  its 
effects  were  felt  by  him,  and  showed  themselves  in  his  looks 
ever  afterwards ; so  that  I think  it  may  be  said  to  have  had 
some  share  in  his  removal  from  us.” 

Among  the  most  valuable  friendships  Constable  formed 
during  the  last  years  of  his  life,  was  that  with  the  gentleman 
to  whom  Mr.  Evans’  note  is  addressed.  Fond  of  devoting 
his  leisure  hours  to  landscape  painting,  and  wholly  unin- 
fluenced by  that  “ cant  of  criticism,”  against  which  Constable 
waged  unceasing  war,  Mr.  Purton  was  led  by  the  study  of 
nature  alone  to  form  a just  estimate  of  the  art  of  his  new 
friend. 

In  1834,  Constable  exhibited  three  pictures  at  the  British 
Gallery,  “ A Cottage  in  a Field  of  Com,”  “ A Heath,”  and 
the  “ Stour  Valley,  with  Dedham  and  Harwich  in  the  dis- 
tance; ” these  had  all  been  exhibited  before.  His  long 
continued  ill  health  disabled  him  from  sending  any  large 
work  to  the  Academy,  where  he  exhibited  drawings  only; 
three  in  water  colours,  “ The  Mound  of  the  City  of  Old 
Sarum,”  “ Stoke  Pogis  Church,  the  Scene  of  Gray’s  ‘ Elegy,’  ” 
“An  Interior  of  a Church,”  also  an  illustration  of  the 


Visit  to  Arundel 


203 

“ Elegy,” 1 and  a large  drawing  in  lead  pencil,  “ A Study  of 
Trees  made  in  the  grounds  of  Charles  Holford,  Esq.,  at 
Hampstead.”  I returned  to  England  in  time  to  see  this 
exhibition. 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  July  2nd. 
Your  prompt  and  very  kind  reply  to  my  dear  boy  makes  us 
quite  happy;  he  is  exceedingly  impatient  to  be  with  you, 
and  to  be  introduced  to  his  young  friend.2  I am  sorry  that 
a meeting  of  the  Artists’  General  Benevolent  Fund,  of  which 
I am  a vice-president,  will  take  place  on  Monday  evening. 
It  is  for  the  relief  of  cases,  many  of  which  are  of  my  own 
recommendation ; and  if  I am  not  present,  it  may  be  materi- 
ally to  their  disadvantage;  therefore  I can’t  come  to  you 
on  the  day  you  name;  but  we  have  arranged,  if  it  is  quite 
agreeable  to  yourself  and  Mrs.  Constable,  to  take  a place  for 
John  on  Saturday,  and  that  I follow  him  on  Tuesday,  by 
which  he  will  get  two  or  three  days  the  start  of  me  in  the 
pleasure  of  our  visit.  I am  brushing  up  my  c Waterloo 
Bridge,’  and  shall  make  it  look  like  something  before  I have 
done  with  it.  The  difficulty  is  to  find  a subject  fit  for  the 
largest  of  my  sizes;  I will  talk  to  you  about  one;  either  a 
canal  or  a rural  affair,  or  a wood,  or  a harvest  scene ; which, 
I know  not,  but  I could  hardly  choose  amiss;  certainly  not, 
if,  as  Wilkie  says,  it  could  be  ‘ painted  well.’  3 I rejoice  to 
hear  such  a good  account  of  your  health.” 

“ Arundel,  July  16th.  My  dear  Leslie.  In  all  my  walks 
about  this  delightful  spot  I think  of  you,  and  how  much  I 
should  like  you  to  enjoy  with  me  the  beautiful  things  that 
are  continually  crossing  my  path.  The  chalk  cliffs  afford 
John  many  fragments  of  oyster  shells  and  other  matters  that 
fell  from  the  table  of  Adam,  in  all  probability.  Our  friend, 
Mr.  George  Constable,  is  fond  of  all  matters  of  science,  and 
he  has  won  John’s  heart  by  a present  (the  arrival  of  which 
in  Charlotte  Street  I shall  dread)  of  an  electrifying  machine. 
The  castle  is  the  chief  ornament  of  this  place;  but  all  here 
sinks  to  insignificance  in  comparison  with  the  woods  and 
hills.  The  woods  hang  from  steeps  and  precipices,  and  the 
trees  are  beyond  everything  beautiful.  Some  parts  of  the 

1 These  beautiful  drawings  of  the  church  were  purchased  by  Mr. 
Rogers. 

2 Mr.  George  Constable’s  son. 

3 If  a young  artist  consulted  Wilkie  as  to  what  he  should  do  to  a 
picture,  his  usual  answer  was,  “ Paint  it  well.” 


Life  of  Constable 


204 

castle,  such  as  the  keep  and  some  of  the  old  walls,  are  as 
grand  as  possible,  but  the  more  modem  part  is  not  unlike  a 
London  show  place.  The  Baron’s  hall  is  a grand  room, 
though  strangely  vulgarised  by  some  hideous  figures  larger 
than  life  on  painted  glass ; these  ruffian-looking  fellows  look 
like  drunken  bargemen  dressed  up  as  Crusaders,  and  are 
meant  to  represent  the  ‘ Barons  bold,’  the  former  lords  of  the 
estate,  who  spread  the  English  name  over  Palestine;  but 
‘ how  are  the  mighty  fallen ! ’ you  would  take  them  to  be 
the  very  men  who  are  watering  the  streets  of  London  this 
hot  weather.  These  things  make  true  what  Horace  Walpole 
says,  in  speaking  of  the  painters  of  the  middle  or  dark  ages, 
as  we  call  them:  ‘ It  would  not  be  easy  to  know  where  to 
go  to  order  a painted  window’  like  one  he  was  describing. 
The  meadows  are  lovely,  so  is  the  delightful  river;  and  the 
old  houses  are  rich  beyond  all  things  of  the  sort;  but  the 
trees  are  above  all,  yet  everything  is  beautiful.  Only  last 
night  I stumbled  on  an  old  barn  situated  amid  trees  of 
immense  size,  like  this  ” (here  the  writing  is  interrupted 
by  a sketch);  “ it  is  of  the  time  of  King  John. 

“ But  we  have  been  to  Petworth,  and  I have  thought  of 
nothing  since  but  that  vast  house  and  its  contents.  The 
earl  was  there;  he  asked  me  to  stay  all  day,  nay  more,  he 
wished  me  to  pass  a few  days  in  the  house.  I excused 
myself,  saying,  I should  like  to  make  such  a visit  when  you 
were  there,  which  he  took  very  agreeably,  saying,  ‘ Be  it  so, 
then,  if  you  cannot  leave  your  friends  now;  ’ he  came  to  us 
two  or  three  times.  I had  a very  kind  letter  of  introduction 
to  him  from  Phillips.” 

On  his  return  to  London,  in  a letter  of  thanks  to  his 
amiable  host  at  Arundel,  Constable  speaks  of  his  visit  as  one 
of  the  most  happy  and  intellectually  delightful  he  ever  paid. 
“ You  thought,”  he  says,  “ of  everything  you  could  to  make 
John  and  me  happy,  and  the  same  motive  actuated  every 
member  of  your  delightful  and  kind  family.” 

“ 35,  Charlotte  Street,  July  29th.  My  dear  Purton. 
Should  you  have  time  to  look  in  to-morrow  or  next  day,  I 
should  be  glad.  I have  done  wonders  with  my  great  ‘ Salis- 
bury; ’ I have  been  preparing  it  for  Birmingham,  and  I am 
sure  I have  much  increased  its  power  and  effect;  I do  hope 
you  will  say  so.  I should  much  like  you  to  see  it,  because 
as  you  are  so  good  as  to  look  at  my  things  at  all,  I argue  you 


Ham  House 


205 

see  something  to  admire  in  them,  and  I have  no  doubt  of  this 
picture  being  my  best  now.  ...  I am,  dear  Purton,  yours 
most  truly,  John  Constable.” 

In  September,  Constable  accepted  an  invitation  to  Pet- 
worth,  where  I was  at  that  time  with  my  family,  sharing 
with  other  guests,  among  whom  were  Mr.  Phillips,  R.A., 
and  his  family,  Lord  Egremont’s  hospitality. 

“ My  dear  Leslie.  I was  happy  to  receive  your  kind  letter, 
and  I hope  in  a few  days  to  avail  myself  of  Lord  Egremont’s 
kindness.  I have  been  two  days  at  Ham.  Lady  Dysart  is 
old,  and  rather  more  infirm,  but  well.  You  and  I must  go 
there  together.  It  seems  as  if  its  inmates  of  a century  and 
a half  back  were  still  in  existence,  and  on  opening  the  doors 
some  of  them  would  appear.  ...  I shall  write  to  say  when 
I hope  to  be  at  Petworth,  which,  as  they  want  to  see  me 
again  at  Ham  on  Sunday  or  Monday,  will,  I think,  be  about 
Wednesday  or  Thursday.  How  I long  to  be  again  in  that 
house  of  art  where  you  are.  I amused  Lady  Dysart  with 
the  story  of  the  sky-rocket;  at  all  events  it  proved  she  had 
been  taught  where  God  was  to  be  found.1  . . . The  Gains- 
borough was  down  when  I was  there.  I placed  it  as  it 
suited  me,  and  I cannot  think  of  it  even  now  without  tears 
in  my  eyes.  With  particulars  he  had  nothing  to  do;  his 
object  was  to  deliver  a fine  sentiment,  and  he  has  fully 
accomplished  it;  mind,  I use  no  comparisons  in  my  delight 
in  thinking  of  this  lovely  canvas;  nothing  injures  one’s 
mind  more  than  such  modes  of  reasoning;  no  fine  things  will 
bear,  or  want  comparisons;  every  fine  thing  is  unique.” 

“ September  6th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I hope  nothing  will 
happen  to  prevent  my  being  with  you  on  Tuesday.  Perhaps 
it  is  now  unnecessary  to  write  to  Lord  Egremont  to  say  that 
I am  coming,  but  if  you  think  I ought,  write  on  the  receipt 
of  this.  You  see  how  awkward  I am  with  the  great  folks. 
...  I wish  I had  said  nothing  about  pictures  in  my  letter. 
So  much  has  expression  to  do  with  words,  that  writing 
and  talking  are  not  the  same  thing.  I did  not  in  the  least 
misunderstand  you.  I should  like  to  have  a keen  eye  2 for 

1 Constable  alludes  to  my  having  told  him  of  the  exclamation  of 
one  of  my  children  on  seeing  some  fireworks  in  Petworth  Park.  As 
the  rockets  ascended  she  said,  “ Won’t  God  be  shot?  ” 

2 1 was  painting  a picture  at  Petworth  for  Lord  Egremont,  and  I 
had  said  in  my  reply  to  Constable’s  last  letter,  “ I do  not  think  I 
shall  show  you  what  I am  about,  as  I fear  your  keen  eye.” 


206 


Life  of  Constable 

myself  and  for  my  friends,  as  a thing  I should  prize  above  all 
the  attributes  of  our  profession;  only  I don’t  think  in  that  I 
deserve  your  good  opinion  to  the  degree  you  believe.  How 
beautifully,  how  justly  does  Dr.  Johnson  somewhere  speak 
of  epistolary  correspondence; 1 but  he  cautions  the  writers 
against  complimenting  each  other,  and  warns  them  of  the 
danger  of  its  self-deception.  See  what  the  evangelicals  have 
done  to  one  another  in  this  way,  till  at  last  they  have  for- 
gotten the  first  principles  of  Christianity,  and  treated  the  rest 
of  the  world  with  contempt.  I am  going  to-morrow  to 
Ham;  we  must  see  it  together.  I expect  always  in  wander- 
ing through  the  rooms  there,  to  meet  either  King  Charles 
II.,  or  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  or  Addison.  It  has  the 
art,  in  portraiture,  on  its  walls,  from  Cornelius  Jansen  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  including  Hopkins  and  Cooper  in  minia- 
ture. There  is  there  a truly  sublime  Cuyp;  still  and  tran- 
quil, the  town  of  Dort  is  seen  with  its  tower  and  windmills 
under  the  insidious  gleam  of  a faint  watery  sun,  while  a 
horrid  rent  in  the  sky  almost  frightens  one,  and  the  lightning 
descends  to  the  earth  over  some  poor  cottages  with  a glide 
that  is  so  much  like  nature  that  I wish  I had  seen  it  before 
I sent  away  my  ‘ Salisbury.’  ” 

“ September  8th.  My  dear  Leslie.  Calculating  from  your 
letter  that  there  was  a coach  to  Petworth  every  day,  I sent 
for  a place  for  Tuesday,  when  I found  the  coach  was  on 
alternate  days,  therefore  I have  taken  one  for  Wednesday 
next.  I have  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  trouble  Lord 
Egremont  about  this  trifling  change  of  a day,  and  I hope 
you  will  set  the  matter  right  for  me.  I have  my  picture 
back  from  Worcester,  and  my  house  is  now  full  of  old  jobs 
and  lumber.  My  glass  is  very  low,  but  I hope  we  may  still 
have  fine  weather.  I shall  put  off  Worcester,  as  I hope  to 
be  better  engaged.  I have  almost  determined  to  attack 
another  canal  for  my  large  frame. — How  beautiful  did  old 
Father  Thames  look  yesterday,  scattered  over  with  swans 
above  Richmond!  and  when  they  flew  over  the  water,  the 
clapping  of  their  wings  was  very  loud  indeed. — How  lovely 
the  trees  are  just  now ! ” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Petworth,  September  14th. 

I am  much  obliged  by  your  kind  letter.  If  I can  see  you  at 
Arundel  before  I leave  this,  I shall  be  delighted,  but  of  that, 

3 He  probably  alludes  to  a passage  in  The  Life  of  Pope. 


At  Petworth 


207 

as  my  time  is  short,  I can  say  nothing.  I am  glad  you  are 
so  well,  but  how  could  you  send  your  boys  to  France?  I 
don’t  think  I could;  but  I dare  say  you  are  right,  I act  so 
sadly  always  on  my  prejudices. — Leslie  has  commenced  a 
picture  here,  a companion  to  his  ‘ Duchess.’ — Mr.  Phillips 
leaves  this  place  in  a few  days.  Mrs.  Phillips  is  going  to 
take  me  to  see  a castle  about  five  miles  off.  Yesterday  I 
visited  the  river  banks,  which  are  lovely  indeed;  Claude  nor 
Ruysdael  could  not  do  a thousandth  part  of  what  nature 
here  presents.  Yours,  my  dear  sir,  always  truly,  John 
Constable.” 

Lord  Egremont,  with  that  unceasing  attention  which  he 
always  paid  to  whatever  he  thought  would  be  most  agree- 
able to  his  guests,  ordered  one  of  his  carriages  to  be  ready 
every  day,  to  enable  Constable  to  see  as  much  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood as  possible.  He  passed  a day  in  company  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phillips  and  myself,  among  the  beautiful 
ruins  of  Cowdry  Castle,  of  which  he  made  several  very  fine 
sketches;  but  he  was  most  delighted  with  the  borders  of  the 
Arun,  and  the  picturesque  old  mills,  barns,  and  farm-houses 
that  abound  in  the  west  of  Sussex.  I recollect  spending  a 
morning  with  him,  he  drawing  the  outside,  while  I was 
sketching  the  interior,  of  a lonely  farm-house,  which  was 
the  more  picturesque  from  its  being  in  a neglected  state,  and 
which  a woman  we  found  in  it  told  us  was  called  “ wicked 
Hammond’s  house;  ” a man  of  that  name,  strongly  suspected 
of  great  crimes,  having  formerly  been  its  occupant.  She 
told  us  that  in  an  old  well  in  the  garden  some  bones  had  not 
long  ago  been  found,  which  the  “ doctor  said  were  the  arm 
bones  of  a Christian .” — While  at  Petworth,  where  Constable 
spent  a fortnight,  he  filled  a large  book  with  sketches  in 
pencil  and  water  colours,  some  of  which  he  finished  very 
highly. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  only,  that  as  an  inmate  of  the 
same  house,  I had  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  his  habits. 
He  rose  early,  and  had  often  made  some  beautiful  sketch 
in  the  park  before  breakfast.  On  going  into  his  room  one 
morning,  not  aware  that  he  had  yet  been  out  of  it,  I found 
him  setting  some  of  these  sketches  with  isinglass.  His 
dressing-table  was  covered  with  flowers,  feathers  of  birds, 
and  pieces  of  bark  with  lichens  and  mosses  adhering  to  them, 
which  he  had  brought  home  for  the  sake  of  their  beautiful 


2o8 


Life  of  Constable 


tints.  Mr.  George  Constable  told  me  that  while  on  the 
visit  to  him,  Constable  brought  from  Fittleworth  Common 
at  least  a dozen  different  specimens  of  sand  and  earth,  of 
colours  from  pale  to  deep  yellow,  and  of  light  reddish  hues 
to  tints  almost  crimson.  The  richness  of  these  colours 
contrasted  with  the  deep  greens  of  the  furze  and  other 
vegetation  on  this  picturesque  heath  delighted  him  exceed- 
ingly, and  he  carried  these  earths  home  carefully  preserved 
in  bottles,  and  also  many  fragments  of  the  variously  coloured 
stone.  In  passing  with  Mr.  G.  Constable  some  slimy  posts 
near  an  old  mill,  he  said,  “ I wish  you  could  cut  off,  and  send 
their  tops  to  me.” 

On  the  1 6th  of  October  the  Houses  of  Parliament  were 
burnt;  and  Constable  witnessed  the  scene  from  a hackney 
coach,  in  which,  with  his  two  eldest  sons,  he  took  a station 
on  Westminster  Bridge.  The  evening  of  the  31st  he  spent 
with  me;  and  while  describing  the  fire,  he  drew  with  a pen, 
on  half  a sheet  of  letter  paper,  Westminster  Hall,  as  it  showed 
itself  during  the  conflagration;  blotting  the  light  and  shade 
with  ink,  which  he  rubbed  with  his  finger  where  he  wished 
it  to  be  lightest.  He  then,  on  another  half  sheet  added  the 
towers  of  the  Abbey  and  that  of  St.  Margaret’s  Church, — 
and  the  papers,  being  joined,  form  a very  grand  sketch  of  the 
whole  scene. 

He  was  now  again  at  work  on  the  “ Salisbury  from  the 
Meadows.”  This  was  a picture  which  he  felt  would  prob- 
ably in  future  be  considered  his  greatest;  for  if  among  his 
smaller  works  there  were  many  of  more  perfection  of  finish, 
this  he  considered  as  conveying  the  fullest  impression  of  the 
compass  of  his  art.  But  it  met  with  no  purchaser.  “ De- 
cember 4th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I have  never  left  my  large 
‘ Salisbury  ’ since  I saw  you.  It  would  much  delight  me  if 
in  the  course  of  to-day  or  to-morrow  you  could  see  it  for  a 
moment.  I cannot  help  trying  to  believe  that  there  may  be 
something  in  it  that  in  some  measure,  at  least,  may  warrant 
your  too  high  opinion  of  my  landscape  in  general.” 

“ December  15th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I write  to  beg  of  you 

to  let  me  put  off  our  visit  to  for  a little.  I was  all 

day  on  Saturday  at  Ham,  and  shall  be  all  this  day  with 
Wilkie,  and  I can  hardly  spare  so  much  of  my  valueless  time, 
for  though  my  life  and  occupation  are  useless,  still  I trifle  on 
in  a way  that  seems  to  myself  like  doing  something;  and  my 


Wilkie’s  “ Columbus  ” 


209 

canvas  soothes  me  into  a forgetfulness  of  much  that  is 

disagreeable.  I could  not  get  on  with  ; how  could  I? 

you  will  say.'  . . Constable  was  at  this  time  disturbed 
by  some  transactions  with  the  last  person  mentioned  in  this 
note,  and  with  some  other  unpleasant  occurrences,  and  which, 
as  it  generally  happened,  his  imagination  magnified,  and  he 
continued:  “Every  gleam  of  sunshine  is  withdrawn  from 

me,  in  the  art,  at  least.  Can  it  be  wondered  at,  then,  that 
I paint  continual  storms : 1 

‘ Tempest  o’er  tempest  roll’d;  ’ 

Still  the  darkness  is  majestic,  and  I have  not  to  accuse  myself 
of  ever  having  prostituted  the  moral  feeling  of  the  art.  . . . 
I saw  Mr.  Bannister  yesterday,  so  well,  so  happy,  and  more 
delightful  than  ever.  I told  him  I had  venison  in  the  house, 
and  that  I wanted  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  to  dine  with  me,  if 
he  would  but  come;  he  did  not  say  no.” 

“ December  17th.  My  dear  Purton.  I am  obliged  to  you 
for  the  quotations;  the  second  is  excellent,2  and  shall  be 
used  in  the  title-page  of  my  book;  but  I must  take  care  of 
being  an  author,  it  is  quite  enough  to  be  a painter.  I beg 
my  best  respects  to  Mrs.  Purton.  I shall  like  to  see  what 
you  are  doing,  and  will  try  to  catch  a glimpse  by  daylight, 
but  I am  in  a terrible  turmoil  with  all  my  things.  I seem 
foolishly  bent  on  a large  canvas.  I was  at  Wilkie’s  all  day 
on  Monday;  he  has  painted  a noble  picture,  Columbus  with 
the  monk,  when  he  shows  him  his  plan  for  overtaking  another 
world.” 

Constable  had  been  asked  by  Wilkie  to  sit  for  one  of  the 
heads  in  the  picture  of  “ Columbus,”  that  of  the  physician 
Garcia  Fernandez.  Among  his  papers  I found  a slight 
pencil  sketch  of  the  whole  composition  of  that  fine  picture, 
no  doubt  made  from  recollection  while  describing  the  subject 
to  some  friend.  Wilkie  also  asked  Constable  to  sit  to  him 
for  a portrait,  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  he  declined 
doing  so. 

The  following  letter  to  Mr.  Dunthorne  accompanied  a 

1 One  of  the  objections  made  to  his  pictures  by  those  who  could 
not  deny  them  nature.  He  was  fond  of  representing  the  passing 
shower,  but  I know  of  no  other  instance  in  his  pictures  of  a storm, 
and  here  it  is  breaking  away. 

2 From  Crabbe.  “ It  is  the  soul  that  sees;  ” etc.  Constable  made 
use  of  this  in  the  third  lecture  he  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution. 

O 


210 


Life  of  Constable 


present  of  Mr.  Lucas’s  large  engravings  of  the  “ Lock,”  and 
the  “ Cornfield.”  “ My  dear  friend.  I hope  you  will 
receive  the  prints  safe.  Mr.  Lucas  bids  me  tell  you  that  he 
shall  send  two  more  which  he  is  now  about,  ‘ Salisbury  ’ 
and  ‘ Stratford  Mill.’  If  you  can  lend  me  two  or  three  of 
poor  John’s  studies  of  the  ashes  in  the  town  meadow,  and  a 
study  of  plants  that  grew  in  the  lane  below,  Mr.  Coleman’s, 
near  the  spouts  which  ran  into  the  pond,  I will  take  great 
care  of  them  and  send  them  safe  back  to  you  soon.  I am 
about  an  ash  or  two  now.  The  prints  will  come  to  you 
from  Flatford,  as  I have  sent  a pair  to  Abram.  Yours  very 
truly,  John  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  February  14th.” 

“ March.  My  dear  Leslie,  Our  friend  Bonner 1 is  on  his 
way  to  bid  my  children  good-bye  at  Hampstead.  He  is 
going  to  Germany,  whence  his  family  originates,  and  he 
cannot  leave  England  without  shaking  you  by  the  hand.  I 
have  been  wholly  shut  up,  so  much  so  that  I do  not  know 
what  is  going  on  since  you  have  been  here.  My  picture 
must  go,  but  it  is  wofully  deficient  in  places.  Yesterday 

Mr. called,  and  though  he  said,  ‘ perhaps  it  is  a little 

better,’  yet  he  added,  ‘ you  know  I like  to  be  honest;  ’ but, 
fortunately  for  me,  I am  sure  it  was  not  at  all  to  his  liking. 
Mr.  Vernon  called  soon  after  with  the  Chalons;  he  saw  it 
free  from  the  mustiness  of  old  pictures,  he  liked  its  daylight, 
and  bought  it;  it  is  his,  only  I must  talk  to  you  about  it; 
he  leaves  all  to  me.  ...”  Constable  told  me  that  Mr. 
Vernon  asked  him  if  the  picture  on  his  easel  was  painted  for 
any  particular  person;  to  which  he  replied:  “Yes,  sir,  it 
is  painted  for  a very  particular  person, — the  person  for  whom 
I have  all  my  life  painted.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  April  8th.  Your  trips  to 
France  must  be  delightful,  and  John  bids  me  tell  you  that 
of  all  things  he  should  like  to  go  with  you  at  some  time  or 
other.  At  present,  however,  it  is  impossible,  as  all  his  lec- 
tures now  are  in  regular  course ; he  is  a pupil  of  Faraday’s 
at  the  Institution  in  Albemarle  Street  on  chymistry,  he  is 
also  a pupil  at  the  London  University  in  surgery  and  physi- 
ology, and  he  is  attending  a course  of  lectures  on  anatomy 
in  Windmill  Street.  To  all  these  things  he  is  as  regular  as 
a clock;  all  I pray  for  is,  that  his  health  will  continue  to 

1 Mr.  Bonner  had  been  for  some  time  domesticated  with  Constable 
as  private  tntor  to  his  sons. 


The  Exhibition 


2 1 i 


bear  it;  nevertheless,  he  must  take  some  trips  in  the  summer, 
and  he,  as  well  as  I,  look  with  great  pleasure  to  a repetition 
of  our  most  unalloyed  and  delightful  visit  to  Arundel. 
Having  spoken  of  the  young  chymist  and  surgeon,  let  me 
speak  of  the  old  landscape  painter.  I have  got  my  picture 
into  a very  beautiful  state;  I have  kept  my  brightness 
without  my  spottiness,  and  I have  preserved  God  Almighty’s 
daylight,  which  is  enjoyed  by  all  mankind,  excepting  only 
the  lovers  of  old  dirty  canvas,  perished  pictures  at  a thou- 
sand guineas  each,  cart  grease,  tar,  and  snuff  of  candle. 

Mr.  , an  admirer  of  commonplace,  called  to  see  my 

picture,  and  did  not  like  it  at  all,  so  I am  sure  there  is  some- 
thing good  in  it.  Soon  after,  Mr.  Vernon  called,  and  bought 
it,  having  never  seen  it  before  in  any  state.” 

This  beautiful  work,  a view  of  “ Willy  Lott’s  House  ” from 
an  early  sketch,  had  the  rare  luck,  when  exhibited,  of  pleas- 
ing even  some  of  the  newspaper  critics;  it  was  the  only 
picture  Constable  sent  to  the  Academy  this  year. 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  June  6th. 
John  has  declared  this  morning,  that  if  I defer  writing  to 
you  any  longer,  he  will  never  speak  to  me  again.  I have 
had  almost  every  sort  of  occupation,  and  if  I do  not  write 
almost  directly  to  any  letter  I receive,  I am  too  apt  to  delay 
it  for  a very  long  time,  as  you,  my  dear  friend,  have  so  often 
experienced,  and  so  often  been  kind  enough  to  forgive.  The 
Exhibition  is  a successful  one,  it  is  profitable  and  productive ; 
t speak  now  of  pictures  under  the  line,  the  large  pictures  are 
very  so  so.  . . . But  there  are  some  excellent  works  of  art 
on  the  walls.  ‘ Columbus  and  his  little  Son/  the  ‘ Gulliver/ 
the  ‘ Scotch  Drovers/  and  Eastlake’s  ‘ Pilgrims.’ — Turner’s 
light,  whether  it  emanates  from  sun  or  moon,  is  exquisite. — 
Collins’  skies  and  shores  are  true,  and  his  horizons  always 
pretty.” 

“ My  dear  William  Carpenter.  Some  years  ago,  a lady  got 
away  my  copy  of  Bryan’s  Dictionary , and  this  has  ever  since 
been  an  inconvenience  to  me.  I want  to  know  when  the 
younger  Cozens  1 was  born;  his  name  was  John,  and  he  was 

1 “ This  artist  was  the  son  of  Alexander  Cozens,  a Russian  by  birth, 
who  established  himself  in  London  as  a landscape  painter  and  drawing- 
master  about  the  year  1770.  He  followed  the  same  profession,  and 
with  great  ability  and  elegance.  He  produced  some  drawings  which 
possessed  extraordinary  merit,  executed  in  a style  which  was  after- 
wards adopted  and  improved  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  Girtin.  He  died 


212 


Life  of  Constable 

the  greatest  genius  that  ever  touched  landscape.  He  was 
the  son  of  Alexander  Cozens,  drawing-master  of  Eaton,  and 
John  died  in  1796,  still  rather  young.  I want  this  for  my 
lecture  on  Monday  to  be  given  at  Hampstead.  My  best 
regards  to  your  father.  Very  truly  yours,  J.  Constable. 
Perhaps  Days  or  Edwards  mentions  his  birth.”  What  Con- 
stable here  says  of  Cozens  is  startling,  although  all  who  are 
acquainted  with  the  beautiful  works  of  that  truly  original 
artist  will  admit  that  his  taste  is  of  the  highest  order;  but 
the  reader  must  have  observed  that  in  other  instances  Con- 
stable speaks  in  similar  unqualified  terms  of  admiration  of 
that  which  at  the  moment  engaged  his  attention. 

“ The  longest  day.  My  dear  Leslie.  ’Tis  true  we  have 
got  you  back  from  America,  but  you  are  still  too  far  away, 
too  far  for  indolent  friends  like  me.  . . . Alfred,  to  my 
surprise  and  delight,  seems  quite  happy  at  Mr.  Brooks’. 
He  plays  first  fiddle  there  at  everything  but  his  book.  But, 
poor  dear  boy,  his  whole  life  has  been  one  of  affliction,1 
which,  as  well  as  his  drollery,  has  endeared  him  to  me,  per- 
haps unduly.  I have  been  closely  shut  up  doing — nothing. 

Lord  N saw  my  pictures  at  Tiffin’s;  he  wanted  the 

‘ Church,’  and  offered  his  Hobbema  for  it.  I daresay  his 
Hobbema  is  good  for  nothing.  All  this  time  the  painter 
is  to  be  had,  but  they  still  wait  for  his  quiet  departure.  . . . 
I have  seen  David’s  pictures;  they  are  indeed  loathsome, 
and  the  room  would  be  intolerable  but  for  the  urbane  and 
agreeable  manners  of  the  colonel.  David  seems  to  have 
formed  his  mind  from  three  sources,  the  scaffold,  the  hospital, 
and  a brothel.  ...  I give  my  lecture  at  Hampstead 
to-morrow  evening  at  a quarter  before  eight.  I have  sent 
up  young  Uwins’  beautiful  copy  of  Ruysdael;  it  will  be  of 
infinite  service  to  me;  also  Partridge’s  ‘ Peter  Martyr.’  I 
have  written  little,  and  shall  depend  most  on  being  conver- 
sational. I have  got  a lovely  drawing  of  young  Bone’s  of 
Guido’s  ‘ Aurora.’  ...  I never  saw  the  elder  bushes  so 
full  of  blossom,  and  some  of  the  flowers,  fore-shortened  as 

in  1799.” — Bryan’s  Dictionary,  Appendix,  vol.  ii.  p.  680.  In  an 
octavo  edition  of  Pilkington’s  Dictionary  printed  in  1829,  speaking  of 
John  Cozens,  it  is  said,  “ His  drawings  were  sold  at  Christie’s  in  1805 
for  five  hundred  and  ten  pounds.  He  died  in  a state  of  mental  derange- 
ment in  1799.”  I think  Pyne,  in  those  articles  he  contributed  to 
The  Literary  Gazette  under  the  title  of  “ Wine  and  Walnuts,”  gave 
some  notices  of  Cozens. 

1 From  ill  health. 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  2 1 3 

they  curve  round,  are  extremely  elegant ; it  is  a favourite  of 
mine,  but  ’tis  melancholy;  an  emblem  of  death.” 

The  pictures  by  David  mentioned  in  this  letter  were  of 
“ Buonaparte  crossing  the  Alps,”  “ Mars  and  Venus,”  the 
“ Death  of  Marat,”  and  some  drawings  of  revolutionary  scenes 
which  were  exhibited  in  Leicester  Square;  and  “ the  colonel  ” 
was  a French  gentleman  who  attended  in  the  room  during 
the  exhibition. 

Of  Constable’s  second  lecture  delivered  at  Hampstead  I 
have  preserved  no  notes;  but  the  reader  will  find  much  of 
it  incorporated  with  what  I have  been  able  to  preserve  of 
those  he  gave  in  London.  I remember  that  the  sky  was 
magnificent  on  the  day  on  which  it  was  delivered;  and  as  I 
walked  across  the  West  End  fields  to  Hampstead,  towards 
evening,  I stopped  repeatedly  to  admire  its  splendid  com- 
binations and  their  effects  over  the  landscape,  and  Constable 
did  not  omit  in  his  lecture  to  speak  of  the  appearances  of 
the  day. 

Mr.  Lucas  was  now  proceeding  with  his  large  plate  of  the 
“ Salisbury  Cathedral  from  the  Meadows,”  which  Constable 
had  commissioned  him  to  undertake,  and  it  is  of  this  the 
next  note  speaks:  “ June  30th.  Dear  Lucas.  I should  be 
glad  if  you  would  leave  the  plate  here  a day  or  two.  Leslie 
is  so  much  impressed  with  the  proof,  that  he  would  give  any 
money  to  possess  one;  so  am  I,  and  would  give  anything  to 
possess  two  at  least.  Now  would  you  mind  printing  a few, 
five  or  six?  would  it  hurt  the  plate?  I know  you  don’t  like 
to  do  so,  but  I would  gladly  pay  all  expenses.  It  never  can 
nor  will  be  grander  than  it  is  now;  it  is  awfully  so.  You 
shall  be  amply  paid  for  this  indulgence.  I do  think  with 
you,  it  is  well  to  stay  your  hand  with  my  works  when  these 
large  ones  are  all  done,  and  pause  for  some  time ; and  if  you 
take  up  a portrait  or  so,  it  may  be  advisable,  lest  that  branch 
of  the  art  should  be  shut  out  from  you,  and  your  forming  a 
connection  that  way  be  cut  off.  All  this  I meant  to  say 
yesterday,  but  you  availed  yourself  of  Rembrandt’s  light 
and  shadow,  and  were  lost.” 

Mr.  Lucas  had  parted  from  Constable  in  a crowded  exhi- 
bition room  containing  the  drawings  by  Rembrandt,  which 
formed  part  of  the  Lawrence  collection. 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  35,  Charlotte  Street,  July 
2nd.  I had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  lady  yesterday  bearing 


214  Life  of  Constable 

your  note,  in  which  you  speak  so  highly  of  the  services  she 
has  rendered  your  dear  children.  I can,  indeed,  well  appre- 
ciate such  benefits,  as  my  own  dear  girls  have  received  them 
at  the  hands  of  my  friend,  Miss  Noble,  for  seven,  eight,  and 
nine  years.  I agree  with  you  in  its  being  the  least  we  can 
do  to  express  our  gratitude  to  such  benefactors.  This  excel- 
lent lady  introduced  herself  to  me  by  saying  she  had  ‘ had 
two  hundred  and  fifty  children;  ’ I was  alarmed, — but  an 
explanation  soon  took  place,  and  I told  her  the  contents  of 
your  note.  My  poor  boy  John  and  myself  are  panting  for 
a little  fresh  air.  He  is  gone  to  Hampstead  to  look  for  a 
mouthful,  leaving  me  with  a promise  that  I write  to  you 
this  evening,  to  say  that  if  it  is  quite  agreeable  to  yourself 
and  Mrs.  Constable,  he  and  I will  come  to  you  on  Tuesday 
to  pass  a few  days,  and  if  also  agreeable,  I will  bring  my 
eldest  girl  with  me.  I long  to  be  among  your  willows  again, 
and  in  your  walks  and  hanging  woods;  among  your  books 
of  antiquities,  and  enjoying  your  society  as  I did  before; 
without  reserve,  restraint,  coldness,  or  form.  I am  much 
worn  with  a long  and  hard  winter  and  spring  campaign, 
though  a successful  one.  I gave  my  lecture  last  Monday 
week  at  Hampstead,  and  did  it  much  better  this  time;  I 
was  thanked  by  the  committee;  it  was  all  conversational; 
but  all  this  wears  me;  and  to  crown  the  whole,  I was  led 
up  to  the  stake  in  a court  of  justice  (for  it  proved  one  in 
this  instance)  to  give  evidence  about  a Claude.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  August  3rd.  I have  been 
sadly  vexed  with  myself  for  not  writing  to  you  long  ago; 
but  I am  sorely  perplexed  with  sundry  matters  which  day 
after  day  eat  up  my  time.  I have  been  with  Maria  to 
Kingston,  and  have  just  brought  her  home;  and  now  that 
all  my  girls  and  my  little  boys  are  safely  deposited  at  school, 
I begin  to  breathe,  and  to  recollect  that  I was  a week  or  two 
ago  at  Arundel,  passing  a most  delightful  time  with  my  dear 
friends,  and  amid  most  heavenly  scenery;  or  was  it  a dream? 
for  it  seems  much  like  one.  John  was  determined  that  this 
day  should  not  pass  without  my  writing  to  you;  his  words 
are,  ‘ Papa,  remember  how  happy  you  were,  and  how  kind 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Constable  were.’ — I have  no  news,  excepting 
that  the  Exhibition  was  prosperous.  But  the  attacks  on 
the  Royal  Academy  have  commenced,  and  a Mr.  Foggo  has 
written  a pamphlet,  and  a committee  in  the  House  of  Com- 


Charles  Constable 


215 

mons  are  enquiring  into  our  affairs.  I should  say,  that  the 
country,  ignorant  and  ungrateful  as  it  is  in  all  liberal  matters, 
does  not  deserve  the  Academy. — My  picture  is  in  my  room; 
it  is  going  to  its  destination  in  Mr.  Vernon’s  great  house  in 
Pall  Mall.” 

The  thoughts  and  wishes  of  Constable’s  second  son, 
Charles,  had  been  turned  towards  the  sea  from  his  child- 
hood; he  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  been  born  a sailor  as 
certainly  as  his  father  was  born  a painter.  It  cost  Constable 
many  pangs  to  conquer  his  repugnance  to  such  a destiny 
for  his  boy,  but  he  found  it  fruitless  to  oppose  it,  and  placed 
him  under  the  care  of  Captain  Hopkins  of  the  Buckingham- 
shire, East  Indiaman. 

“ Dear  Leslie,  I send  you  a proof  of  the  great  ‘ Salisbury  ’ 
in  its  pristine  grandeur.  My  poor  Charley’s  time  is  now 
very  short  in  the  land  of  comfort.  The  ship  sails  this  week, 
and  the  house  has  been  long  in  a stir  with  his  outfit.  There 
is  no  end  to  his  wants.  What  would  Diogenes,  or  an  old 
sow  (much  the  same  thing),  say  to  all  the  display  of  trowsers, 
jackets,  etc.,  by  dozens,  blue  and  white  shirts  by  scores,  and 
a supply  of  rattlin  for  his  hammock,  as  he  expects  to  be  often 
cut  down! — Poor  dear  boy!  I try  to  joke  about  him,  but  my 
heart  is  broken  at  parting  with  him.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  September 
12th.  John’s  return,  and  so  exceedingly  well,  has  made  me 
quite  happy;  he  is  delighted  with  his  tour,  and  with  your 
and  Mrs.  Constable’s  great  kindness  to  him.  I know  not 
how  I can  be  sufficiently  thankful  to  you  and  her.  It  has 
set  up  his  health,  and  it  is  essential  to  his  ensuing  winter’s 
studies  that  he  should  be  strong  enough  to  meet  the  fag. 
I have  had,  as  you  may  suppose,  a most  anxious  and  busy 
time  with  Charles.  I have  done  all  for  the  best,  and  I 
regret  all  that  I have  done,  when  I consider  that  it  was  to 
bereave  me  of  this  delightfully  clever  boy,  who  would  have 
shone  in  my  own  profession,1  and  who  is  now  doomed  to  be 
driven  about  on  the  ruthless  sea.  It  is  a sad  and  melancholy 
life,  but  he  seems  made  for  a sailor.  Should  he  please  the 
officers  and  stick  to  the  ship,  it  will  be  more  to  his  advantage 
than  being  in  the  navy, — a hateful  tyranny,  with  starvation 
into  the  bargain.  Barrow  told  me  not  long  ago  that  they 

1 Charles  Constable  drew  and  etched  beautifully  for  so  young  a 
practitioner. 


2l6 


Life  of  Constable 


had  twelve  hundred  midshipmen  they  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  at  the  Admiralty.  In  the  midst  of  my  perplexi- 
ties I have  made  a good  portrait,  and  finished  and  sold  my 
little  £ Heath.’  Mr.  Vernon  has  luckily  paid  me,  for  it  has 
cost  me  two  hundred  pounds  to  get  Charles  afloat.  My 
pictures  have  come  back  from  Worcester;  I wish  I could  get 
off  going  there  to  lecture,  especially  as  C has  been  drivel- 

ling a parcel  of  sad  stuff  in  the  Worcester  paper  in  the  name 
of  Lorenzo;  God  knows,  not  Lorenzo  de  Medici;  but  it  is 
all  about  ideal  art,  which  in  landscape  is  sheer  nonsense, 
as  they  put  it.  Even  Sir  Joshua  is  not  quite  clear  in 
this.” 

“ Charlotte  Street,  September  14th.  My  dear  Leslie, 
Nothing  but  my  almost  entire  occupation  within  doors  by 
my  poor  Charley,  and  various  other  matters,  could  have 
caused  me  so  long  to  delay  writing  to  you.1  I have  several 
letters  from  Charles  from  the  ship,  and  at  length  a final  one 
off  Start  Point,  when  the  ship  was  leaving  the  land.  He 
is  a true  sailor,  and  makes  up  his  mind  to  combat  all  diffi- 
culties in  calms  or  storms  with  an  evenness  of  mind  that 
little  belongs  to  me,  a landsman.  They  have  had  a rough 
business  of  it  so  far.  He  says  Captain  Hopkins  is  a delight- 
ful man.  . . . Poor  Charles  hung  about  me  when  I parted 
from  him;  Roberts  and  Alfred  were  with  me;  he  asked  if 
I could  stay  in  the  ship  till  next  day,  but  I knew  we  must 
part,  so  we  shook  hands,  and  I saw  him  no  more.  It  is  a 
noble  ship,  the  size  of  a seventy-four.  . . . John  is  returned 
from  France,  much  pleased  and  wonderfully  strong  and  well, 
ready  and  willing  for  a winter  fag  in  London,  where  he  enters 
his  course  of  chymistry,  anatomy,  and  materia  medica.  He 
was  amused  with  France,  but  with  the  food  he  was  annoyed, 
as  he  says  they  put  vinegar  into  everything  they  eat  and 
drink.  I have  made  a beautiful  drawing  of  Stonehenge; 
I venture  to  use  such  an  expression  to  you. — I called  on 
Mr.  Bannister,  who  is  well,  but  sadly  low  about  the  poor 
young  men  who  were  drowned;  they  were  brothers  of  his 

son’s  wife. — The  Academy  has  given  Mrs. forty  pounds, 

so  I hope  Parliament  will  not  put  it  down. — I must  go  to 
Worcester,  or  they  will  think  me  shabby  and  a charlatan. 

I have  got  my  picture  back;  they  tell  me  I played  first 
fiddle.  John  tells  me  of  Lord  Egremont  shooting  three 
1 1 was  then  out  of  town. 


Mr.  Vernon's  Picture 


217 

brace  of  partridges  and  a hare  on  the  1st  of  September; 
wonderful  at  his  age. 

“ To  Mr.  J.  J.  Chalon.  October  29th.  I much  regret 
not  seeing  you  last  night,  but  I want  most  to  see  you  by  day- 
light, as  I have  been  very  busy  with  Mr.  Vernon’s  picture. 
Oiling  out,  making  out,  polishing,  scraping,  &c.,  seem  to 
have  agreed  with  it  exceedingly.  The  ‘ sleet  ’ and  ‘ snow  ’ 
have  disappeared,  leaving  in  their  places,  silver,  ivory,  and 
a little  gold.  I wish  you  could  give  me  a look,  as  it  will  go 
in  a few  days.  I am  glad  you  are  all  on  the  return,  and  I 
was  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  you  are  all  well.” 

“To  Mr.  George  Constable.  November  nth.  We  shall 
be  delighted  to  see  your  son  and  any  part  of  your  family; 
John  has  a bed  to  spare  in  his  own  room.  For  myself,  I 
only  wish  to  be  left  to  my  painting-room.  I do  not  think 
of  much  canvas  this  year;  a size  smaller  will  be  better,  and 
more  of  them;  such  as  will  suit  my  friends’ pockets;  though 
’tis  too  late  in  life  for  me  to  think  of  ever  becoming  a popular 
painter.  Besides,  a knowledge  of  the  world,  and  I have 
little  of  it,  goes  farther  towards  that  than  a knowledge  of 
art.” 

“ December  1st.  My  dear  Leslie,  Will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  call  in  your  way  to-morrow,  so  that  we  may  go  to  the 
Academy  together,  and  this  will  give  me  a fair  opportunity 
of  begging  you  to  look  at  Mr.  Vernon’s  picture  by  daylight. 
I don’t  wonder  at  your  working  so  much  on  the  same  picture, 
now  that  I see  what  can  be  done  by  it.  I want  you,  of  all 
things,  to  see  it  now,  for  it  has  proved  to  me  what  my  art 
is  capable  of  when  time  can  be  given  sufficient  to  carry  it 
home.  So  much  you  will  take  from  me.” 

“ December  9th.  My  dear  Leslie,  I have  had  a letter 
from  your  sister,  with  another  from  Mr.  Carey,  who  has 
desired  me  to  send  him  a picture  which  I have  not  got,  nor 
ever  had.  Through  the  kindness  of  your  sister,  he  has  seen 
my  book,  and  has  taken  a liking  to  the  c Sea  Beach,’  think- 
ing, no  doubt,  it  was  done  from  something  more  than  a 
sketch.  I know  not  what  to  say,  perhaps  you  will  call  on 
me  to-morrow  evening,  and  we  will  go  together  to  hear  Sir 
Martin.  Mr.  Vernon’s  picture  is  not  yet  gone  to  him;  he 
wants  it,  but  it  never  was  half  so  good  before,  and  I will  do 
as  I like  with  it,  for  I have  still  a greater  interest  in  it  than 
anybody  else.” 


218  Life  of  Constable 

“ To  Mr.  William  Carpenter.  Dear  Sir,  Accept  my  best 
thanks  for  the  book,  James’  Italian  School , which  I return. 
The  Dictionary  is  a most  valuable  work,  but  as  I go  on 
referring  to  it,  I occasionally  meet  with  errors;  and  how 
can  it  be  otherwise,  when  the  sources  from  whence  the  infor- 
mation is  derived  are  so  often  erroneous?  I shall  not  fail, 
however,  to  make  memoranda  when  I meet  with  them  to 
submit  to  you.  My  character  of  Ruysdael  I have  not  yet 
found,  but  I can  always  write  it  for  you,  and  better  and 
better.1 — I have  never  ceased  to  work  on  Mr.  Vernon’s 
picture  since  I saw  you;  it  is  at  present  with  him  in  Pall 
Mall,  but  is  coming  back  by  the  bearer  for  £ more  last  words.’ 
— My  painter’s  library  is  now  getting  very  considerable. — 
I wrote  a long  note  to  you  the  other  day,  full  of  nonsense, 
which  my  man  lost  by  the  way.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  December 
1 6th.  We  shall  be  delighted  so  see  you  and  any  of  your 
family;  our  own  plans  are  thus.  My  daughters  come  home 
to-morrow,  and  will  go  in  a few  days  to  their  aunt  at  Wimble- 
don. John  and  I have  engaged  to  eat  our  Christmas  dinner 
at  Bergholt,  with  my  own  family.  We  shall  leave  town  on 
the  24th,  and  stay  a week;  in  the  second  week  of  January, 
therefore,  we  shall  look  for  you.  Can  you  bring  with  you 
the  little  Gainsborough,  and  the  sketch  I made  of  your 
* Mill  ’?  John  wants  me  to  make  a picture  of  it.  I had  a 
nice  excursion  to  Worcester,  and  got  on  quite  well  with  my 
sermons;  you  will  see  my  placards,  and  how  well  they  are 
arranged.  I would  make  a book,  but  I recollect  the  saying, 

‘ O that  mine  enemy  would  write  a book!  ’ John  is  now  at 
the  door,  by  which  I know  it  is  exactly  ten  minutes  past 
four.” 

1 1 regret  to  say  it  was  not  found  among  his  papers. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
1836-1837 

Mr.  Vernon’s  Picture.  Contemplated  Pictures  of  *'  Arundel  Mill,”  and 
of  “ Stoke.”  Description  of  Stoke  Church.  Engraving  of  “ Salis- 
bury.” Breakfast  with  Mr.  Rogers.  Lectures  at  the  Royal 
Institution.  Exhibition  of  1836.  Picture  of  the  “ Cenotaph  ” 
erected  by  Sir  George  Beaumont  to  Sir  J.  Reynolds.  Drawing 
of  Stonehenge.  Constable’s  two  eldest  Sons.  Clouds  and  Skies. 
Death  of  Westall.  Constable  Visitor  in  the  Life  Academy. 
Picture  of  “ Arundel  Mill.”  Engraving  of  “ Salisbury  Cathedral 
from  the  Meadows.”  Probable  Causes  of  the  decline  of  Con- 
stable’s Health.  His  Death.  His  Funeral. 

“To  Mr.  George  Constable.  January  12th,  1836.  ...  I 
have  never  left  my  picture  till  now,  when  Mr.  Vernon  has 
allowed  it  to  go  to  the  British  Gallery,  and  I am  glad  to 
get  it  there  in  its  present  state,  as  you  will  be  able  to  see  it. 
When  you  come,  will  you  bring  the  little  sketch  of  ‘ Arundel 
Mill,’  as  I contemplate  a picture  of  it  of  a pretty  good  size.” 
“ Charlotte  Street,  February  6th.  My  dear  Purton.  I 
am  sure  these  dear  children  would  be  disappointed  were  they 
not  to  have  the  pleasure  of  joining  the  young  folks  at  your 
party  on  Saturday.  We  all,  therefore,  gladly  avail  ourselves 
of  your  and  Mrs.  Purton’s  kind  invitation,  and  will  be  with 
you  at  four  o’clock  that  day,  John,  myself,  and  the  sailor; 
though  for  myself  there  is  always  an  uncertainty,  I like  to 
be  poking  about  among  my  lumber,  and  loathe  to  go  from 
home.  I am  glad  you  encourage  me  with  ‘ Stoke.’  What 
say  you  to  a summer  morning?  July  or  August,  at  eight 
or  nine  o’clock,  after  a slight  shower  during  the  night,  to 
enhance  the  dews  in  the  shadowed  part  of  the  picture,  under 

‘ Hedge-row  elms  and  hillocks  green.’ 

Then  the  plough,  cart,  horse,  gate,  cows,  donkey,  etc.,  are 
all  good  pain  table  material  for  the  foreground,  and  the  size 
of  the  canvas  sufficient  to  try  one’s  strength,  and  keep  one 
at  full  collar.  Now  pray  keep  to  your  canvas,  and  get  up 
a heath  scene,  to  which  you  are  now  fully  competent,  having 
the  advantage  of  previous  experience  of  that  kind  of  practice 

219 


220 


Life  of  Constable 


on  your  large  picture.1  I am  happy  with  these  boys  about 
me.  My  monitor,  John,  I always  give  up  to,  he  is  always 
in  the  right.  Charley  is  a good  boy,  but  a straw  will  draw 
him  aside, — his  character  is  easily  mistaken.  He  is  every 
other  night  with  his  navigation  master.  Both  boys  are  now 
reading  their  studies  by  my  side/’ 

The  large  picture  of  “ Stoke  ” was  never  painted;  but  a 
sketch  of  the  subject  furnished  a plate  for  the  English  Land- 
scape. Of  his  intention  in  this  sketch,  Constable  says, 
“ The  impressive  solemnity  of  a summer’s  noon,  when  at- 
tended as  it  often  is  during  the  heats  of  the  season,  by  thunder 
clouds,  is  attempted  to  be  expressed  in  this  picture;  at  the 
same  time,  the  appearance  of  a noon-day  rainbow  is  hinted 
at,  when  the  arc  it  describes  is  at  its  lowest. — Suffolk,  and 
many  of  the  other  eastern  counties,  abound  in  venerable 
Gothic  churches,  many  of  them  of  a size  which  cannot  fail 
to  strike  the  stranger  with  admiration  and  surprise;  and  a 
melancholy  but  striking  characteristic  of  these  churches  is, 
their  being  found  in  situations  now  comparatively  lonely, 
some  of  them  standing  in  obscure  villages  containing  a few 
scattered  houses  only,  and  those  but  ill  according  with  such 
large  and  beautiful  structures;  but  it  is  thus  accounted  for: 
these  spots  were  the  seats  of  those  flourishing  manufactories 
once  so  numerous  in  these  counties,  where  they  had  from  a 
remote  period  been  established,  and  were  during  the  reigns 
of  Henry  VII.2  and  VIII.  greatly  increased  by  the  continual 
arrival  of  the  Flemings,  who  found  here  a refuge  from  the 
persecutions  of  the  Low  Countries;  as  well  as  afterwards  in 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  whom  the  course  of  events  had  raised 
to  be  the  glory  and  the  support  of  Protestant  Europe.  The 
vast  size  of  these  noble  structures,  with  the  charm  that  the 
mellowing  hand  of  time  has  cast  over  them,  gives  them  an 
aspect  of  extreme  solemnity  and  grandeur,  and  they  stand 
lasting  monuments  of  the  power  and  splendour  of  our  eccle- 
siastical government,  as  well  as  of  the  piety  and  skill  of  our 
ancestors.  Stoke,  though  by  no  means  one  of  the  largest, 
certainly  ranks  with  the  churches  alluded  to.  It  was  pro- 
bably erected  about  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The 

1 Constable  said  to  Mr.  Purton,  “A  large  canvas  will  show  you 
what  you  cannot  do,  a small  one  will  only  show  you  what  you  can.” 

2 Dedham  Church  was  built  by  Margaret  Tudor,  the  mother  of 
Henry  VII.  and  bears  her  initials  in  many  of  its  ornaments. 


22  1 


Mr.  Rogers 

length  of  the  nave,  with  its  continuous  line  of  embattled 
parapet,  and  its  finely  proportioned  chancel,  may  challenge 
the  admiration  of  the  architect,  as  well  as  its  majestic  tower, 
which  from  its  commanding  height  may  be  said  to  impart  a 
portion  of  its  own  dignity  to  the  surrounding  country.  In 
the  church  are  many  interesting  monuments;  and  here,  as 
well  as  at  Neyland,  are  many  of  the  tombstones  of  the 
clothiers;  being  mostly  laid  in  the  pavement,  they  are  much 
defaced,  but  are  known  to  belong  to  them  by  the  small  brasses 
still  remaining.” 

“ February  15th.  My  dear  Lucas.  The  ‘ Salisbury  ’ is 
much  admired  in  its  present  state,  but  still  it  is  too  heavy, 
especially  when  seen  between  the  * Lock  ’ and  the  ‘ Drink- 
ing Boy.’  Yet  we  must  not  break  it  up,  and  we  must  bear 
in  recollection  that  the  sentiment  of  the  picture  is  that  of 
solemnity,  not  gaiety,  nothing  garish,  but  the  contrary;  yet 
it  must  be  bright,  clear,  alive,  fresh,  and  all  the  front 
seen.” 

“ March  18th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I never  had  such  a 
morning  in  my  life  as  that  which  I passed  with  Mr.  Rogers. 
I long  to  see  you,  but  the  grievous  place  in  which  you  are 
cuts  off  everything.  All  that  know  you  agree  that  the  spot  is 
fatal  to  your  friendships;  you  will  justly  say,  ‘ What  are  such 
friendships  worth?  ’ But  I am  angry  because  I have  wanted 
of  late  so  very  much  to  see  you.  Mr.  Rogers  thinks  I am 
in  the  right  road  in  my  pursuit  of  landscape.  He  likes  my 
plan  of  its  history,  and  says,  * nobody  can  do  it  so  well;  ’ this 
is  encouraging.  He  was  pleased  with  my  pointing  out  the 
falling  or  shooting  star  in  his  exquisite  Rubens.1  But  he  is 
very  quiet  in  his  likes  and  dislikes;  a delightful  man,  all 
intelligence,  all  benevolence  and  justice,  and  a generous 
upholder  of  art,  living  and  dead.  What  pictures  he  has  got ! 
the  best  in  London;  and  he  has  some  noble  old  wood-cuts. 
It  was  pleasing  to  see  him  feed  the  sparrows  while  at  break- 
fast, and  to  see  how  well  they  knew  him.  But  he  has  some 
melancholy  ideas  of  human  nature.  He  said  £ it  is  a debt 
genius  must  pay  to  be  hated.’ — I doubt  this  in  general,  but 
there  is  something  like  it  in  nature.  I told  him  if  he  could 
catch  one  of  those  sparrows,  and  tie  a bit  of  paper  about  its 

1 A moonlight ; a scene  of  such  perfect  stillness,  that  the  entire  orb 
of  the  moon  is  reflected  in  a pool  of  water.  There  is  a horse  in  the 
foreground,  and  you  seem  to  hear  him  cropping  the  grass. 


222 


Life  of  Constable 

neck,  and  let  it  off  again,  the  rest  would  peck  it  to  death  for 
being  so  distinguished” 

“ March  26th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I send  you  a few  skies, 
such  as  we  thought  might  suit  your  picture.  Perhaps  a 
mountain  ash  among  the  shepherds  might  be  useful;  I send 
a rough  sketch  of  one  I made  from  a bedroom  window 
where  I slept;  they  are  pretty  with  the  berries.  ...  I am 
sorely  perplexed  with  concerns  not  my  own,  in  the  picture 
way;  I have  in  my  house  several  works  supplicating  for 
places  in  the  Exhibition;  they  are  sent  to  me  because  it  is 
well  known  what  a fool  I am.1  . . . What  stuff  I am  writing 
to  you,  but  the  worst  is,  I am  really  serious  in  all  I ask  of 
you.  I enclose  a card  of  the  Royal  Institution,  that  you 
may  be  convinced  of  my  folly  and  activity,  but  I am  not 
yet  selling  spruce  beer  in  the  streets,  like .” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  May  12th.  I am  pretty 
full  handed,  and  sorely  perplexed  for  time,  owing  to  the 
numerous  irons  I have  put  in  the  fire.  I have  engaged  to 
deliver  four  lectures,  as  the  card  I enclose  will  let  you  see; 
they  will  comprehend  a pretty  full  account  of  the  history  of 
landscape.  ...  I got  up  a tolerably  good  picture  for  the 
Academy,  not  the  ‘ Mill,’  which  I had  hoped  to  do,  and  which 
was  prettily  laid  in  as  far  as  chiaroscuro,  but  I found  I 
could  not  do  both;  and  so  I preferred  to  see  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds’  name  and  Sir  George  Beaumont’s  once  more  in 
the  catalogue,  for  the  last  time  at  the  old  house.  I hear  it 
is  liked,  but  I see  no  newspaper,  not  allowing  one  to  come 
into  my  house.  I send  you  a catalogue,  and  marked,  I 
believe,  pretty  fairly.  The  Exhibition  is  much  liked. 
Wilkie’s  pictures  are  very  fine,  and  Turner  has  outdone 
himself;  he  seems  to  paint  with  tinted  steam,  so  evanescent 
and  so  airy.  The  public  think  he  is  laughing  at  them,  and 
so  they  laugh  at  him  in  return.  The  non-members  are  very 
powerful;  Charles  Landseer,  Herbert,  Partridge,  Knight, 
and  Roberts.  The  president  was  never  better,  but  his 
health  gives  way  under  his  duties.  I dined  with  Wilkie 
last  week,  and  met  Allan,  who  is  very  entertaining.  Wilkie 
recommended  to  me  to  paint  a large  picture  for  over  the  line 
next  year.” 

The  picture  mentioned  in  the  beginning  of  this  letter  was 
of  the  “ Cenotaph  ” erected  by  Sir  George  Beaumont  to  the 
1 I was  then  on  the  arranging  committee  at  the  Academy. 


Royal  Institution  Lectures  223 

memory  of  Reynolds.  It  might  seem  as  if  Constable  had 
consulted  the  taste  of  his  late  friend  in  choosing  the  autumnal 
tints  for  the  foliage  of  a scene  taken  from  Sir  George’s 
grounds,  but  his  doing  so  arose  naturally  from  his  having 
made  his  studies  from  it  late  in  the  autumn.  In  this  fine 
picture,  every  way  worthy  of  so  interesting  a subject,  Con 
stable  introduced  nothing  living,  except  a deer  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  a robin  red-breast  perched  on  one  of  the  angles 
of  the  monument.  In  describing  the  “ Cenotaph  ” in  the 
catalogue,  he  quoted  the  lines  inscribed  on  it,  written  by 
Wordsworth  at  Sir  George  Beaumont’s  request: 

“ Ye  lime  trees  ranged  before  this  hallow’d  urn, 

Shoot  forth  with  lively  power  at  spring’s  return ; 

And  be  not  slow  a stately  growth  to  rear 
Of  pillars  branching  off  from  year  to  year, 

Till  they  have  learn’d  to  frame  a darksome  aisle. 

That  may  recall  to  mind  that  awful  pile 
Where  Reynolds,  ’mid  our  country’s  noblest  dead. 

In  the  last  sanctity  of  fame  is  laid. 

There,  though  by  right  the  excelling  painter  sleep 
Where  death  and  glory  a joint  Sabbath  keep. 

Yet  not  the  less  his  spirit  would  hold  dear 
Self-hidden  praise  and  friendship’s  private  tear: 

Hence  in  my  patrimonial  grounds  have  I 
Raised  this  frail  tribute  to  his  memory; 

From  youth  a zealous  follower  of  the  art 
That  he  profess’d,  attach’d  to  him  in  heart; 

Admiring,  loving,  and  with  grief  and  pride 
Feeling  what  England  lost  when  Reynolds  died.” 

Constable  exhibited  with  this  picture  a magnificent  drawing 
in  water-colours  of  Stonehenge,  of  a large  size. 

He  was  now  wholly  occupied  in  preparing  the  lectures 
which  he  delivered  in  the  summer  of  this  year  at  the  Royal 
Institution,  Albemarle  Street,  beginning  on  the  26th  of  May. 
The  ticket  mentioned  in  the  following  note  was  an  admission 
to  these  lectures. 

“ Dear  William  Carpenter,  I send  a ticket,  as  you  requested, 
to  Mrs.  Carpenter;  and  if  your  son  is,  as  I sincerely  hope, 
better,  he  may  accompany  her  and  yourself,  as  both  may 
possibly  be  included  among  her  friends.  Don’t  trouble 
yourself  about  Lanzi  any  farther,  as  I have  now  pretty  well 
done  with  him.  He  is  an  old  twaddler,  but  the  labour  he 
spares  is  immense,  and  certainly  his  arrangement,  his  history, 
and  the  marking  of  the  epochs  is  admirable  and  very  useful. 
Yours  truly,  J.  Constable.” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  Charlotte  Street,  September 


Life  of  Constable 


224 

16th.  My  dear  Friend.  It  is  a very  long  time  since  I have 
written  to  you,  or  since  I have  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
from  you.  I am  anxious  to  know  how  you  and  Mrs.  Con- 
stable and  all  your  family  are,  and  what  have  been  your 
occupations  in  the  way  of  the  arts,  in  antiquities,  and  in 
natural  history.  My  dear  John  is  always  engrossed  with 
some  study  or  other;  he  is  remarkably  well,  and  is  wholly 
devoted  to  Latin  and  Greek.  I know  not,  nor  does  he  know 
himself,  exactly,  what  he  will  ultimately  be,  but  either  a 
clergyman  or  a physician.  He  is  brushing  up  for  Cambridge; 
this  I regret,  but  it  is  a selfish  feeling;  I cannot  bear  to  part 
with  him.  I live  a life  of  more  solitude  than  you  would 
suspect  for  the  midst  of  London,  and  in  such  a pursuit,  so 
wide  a field  as  the  arts.  My  son  Charles  is  returned  from 
the  East  Indies;  the  voyage  has  been  a hard  one,  but  it  is 
all  for  the  best.  All  his  visionary  and  poetic  ideas  of  the 
sea  and  a seaman’s  life  are  fled,  the  reality  only  remains; 
and  a sad  thing  the  reality  is.  But  in  the  huge  floating  mass 
there  is  an  order,  and  an  habitual  good  conduct,  which  must 
be  of  advantage  to  a youth  of  ardent  mind,  and  one  who 
has  never  been  controlled.  Charley  is  preparing  for  another 
voyage,  and  the  ship  sails  in  the  middle  of  November  for 
China.  ...  I have  not  been  out  of  town  once  this  year, 
but  for  an  hour  or  two.  I dislike  to  leave  home,  but  enjoy 
an  excursion  very  much  when  I am  away.  I have  an 
invitation  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but  I daresay  I shall  not 
go.  I must  go  into  Suffolk,  and  take  my  sailor  boy  with 
me.  John  was  there  this  summer  for  five  weeks;  he  was  a 
great  favourite  with  his  aunts  and  my  brothers;  indeed, 
John  is  sure  to  win  his  way,  for  he  never  gives  offence  to 
any  living  creature.  I have  lately  painted  a f Heath  ’ that  I 
prefer  to  any  of  my  former  efforts;  it  is  about  two  feet  six, 
painted  for  a very  old  friend,  an  amateur,  who  well  knows 
how  to  appreciate  it,  for  I cannot  paint  down  to  ignorance. 
Leslie  was  here  to-day;  he  is  going  to  Petworth  in  ten  days. 
I have  never  seen  such  scenery  as  your  country  affords;  I 
prefer  it  to  any  other  for  my  pictures; — woods — lanes — 
single  trees — rivers — cottages — barns — mills — and,  above  all, 
such  beautiful  heath  scenery.” 

“ October  29th.  My  dear  Leslie.  It  seems  a very  long 
time  since  we  met,  or  that  I have  heard  from  you.  I should, 
as  you  will  believe,  be  delighted  to  have  a letter,  if  it  is  only 


Death  of  Westall 


225 

to  give  me  a hint  of  what  is  going  on  at  Petworth.  I trust 
you  will  hardly  quit  so  hospitable  a roof  till  this  ebullition 
of  premature  winter  is  past;  the  snow  is  very  deep  indeed, 
and  all  since  four  o’clock  this  morning.  My  boys  are  very 
good  boys.  I have  not  left  home  for  a day,  nor  can  I till 
John  is  at  Cambridge  and  Charley  at  sea.  0 what  a melan- 
choly, dirty  life  is  a sailor’s ! but  he  is  going  out  again  with 
the  ship  to  China.  There  are  to  be  twelve  or  thirteen 
midshipmen,  and  where  they  find  a pighole  for  so  many,  I 
know  not.  ...  I hear  a sad  account  of  poor  Mr.  Bannister, 
who  will  never  leave  his  room  again,  nor  see  any  more  of  his 
friends,  nor  sing  any  more  of  his  delightful  songs.” 

“ My  dear  Leslie.  . . . My  poor  Charley  has  had  sad 
weather  in  his  progress  to  the  Downs,  where  he  is  now 
possibly  wind-bound.  The  frightful  gale  on  Tuesday  is  well 
described  by  him.  The  ship  was  anchored  by  the  Nore 
light,  and  rode  out  the  storm  with  little  damage;  but  the 
wrecks  around  and  within  two  hundred  yards  were  shocking; 
one  large  ship  floated  past,  bottom  upwards,  and  after  the 
gale  he  saw  seven  large  hulls  in  tow  with  steam  boats.  In 
their  passage  to  the  Downs  they  saw  some  on  the  Goodwin 
Sands,  and  some  on  the  beach  under  the  Foreland.” 

“ December  8th.  My  dear  Leslie.  . . . Mr.  Sheep- 
shanks means  to  have  my  * Glebe  Farm  ’ or  ‘ Green  Lane,’ 
of  which  you  have  a sketch;  this  is  one  of  the  pictures  on 
which  I rest  my  little  pretensions  to  futurity.  ...  I hope 
you  are  all  well,  and  safely  returned,  and  the  better  for  the 
excursion.  Will  you  come  to  the  last  lecture  given  in  the 
old  house?  if  so,  call  and  dine  here.  . . . Poor  Westall!  ” 

“ To  Mr.  George  Constable.  December  12th.  I return 
the  book  which  you  lent  me  so  long  ago.  My  observations 
on  clouds  and  skies  are  on  scraps  and  bits  of  paper,  and  I 
have  never  yet  put  them  together  so  as  to  form  a lecture, 
which  I shall  do,  and  probably  deliver  at  Hampstead  next 
summer.  I wish  I had  secured  your  fine  old  willow,  which 
you  say  is  now  no  more  (what  a pity),  for  my  lecture  on 
trees.  If  you  want  anything  more  about  atmosphere,  and  I 
can  help  you,  write  to  me.  Foster’s  is  the  best  book;  he  is 
far  from  right,  still  he  has  the  merit  of  breaking  much 
ground.  . . . Poor  Westall!  I went  to  his  funeral  on 
Saturday.” 

“ December  30th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I am  vexed  with 

p 


226 


Life  of  Constable 


myself  for  having  so  long  delayed  to  write  to  you,  to  thank 
you  for  your  kind  invitation  to  these  dear  children.  This 
fearful  weather  intimidates  me,  but  it  seems  little  likely  to 
change;  and  all  my  dreads,  and  all  I can  say  about  the 
danger  of  such  an  excursion  into  the  country  at  such  a time, 
gives  no  alarm  whatever  to  the  children,  and  they  insist  on 
my  coming  out  of  my  lurking  place,  where  I thought  I had 
lain  up  for  the  winter,  and  so  I must  accompany  them  to 
your  house  on  Monday  to  keep  New  Year’s  Day.  Now  all 
this  I do,  and  let  them  do,  only  on  condition  that  Mrs.  Leslie 
and  you  dine  with  me  on  Wednesday.  We  have  venison 
from  my  old  friend,  Lady  Dysart,  and  are  almost  alone; 
only  Mr.  and  Miss  Spedding,  very  old  and  esteemed  friends 
of  my  poor  wife.  Prithee  come,  ‘ life  is  short,  friendship  is 
sweet ; ’ these  were  the  last  words  of  poor  Fisher  to  me  in 
his  last  invitation. — My  month  in  the  Life  School  is  March. 
I have  concluded  on  setting  the  three  figures  of  the  ‘ St. 
Peter  Martyr,’  for  I am  determined  to  sift  that  picture  to 
the  bottom.1  I have  by  me  a very  old  print  of  the  subject 
five  years  before  Titian’s  picture,  done  from  the  one  which 
occupied  the  same  place  in  the  Dominican  Church.  The 
picture  was  by  Jacopo  del  Fiore,  or  £ Jemmy  of  the  flower;  ’ 
the  flower  stands  for  his  name  in  the  print,  forming  a very 
expressive  figure.” 

The  invitation  contained  in  this  letter  was  Constable’s  last 
written  one  to  me.  Without  attaching  to  coincidences  such 
as  these,  any  superstitious  importance,  they  are  too  affecting 
to  pass  unnoticed.  The  expression,  also,  which  follows,  with 
regard  to  March,  which  proved  to  be  the  last  month  of  his 
life,  is  very  remarkable. 

In  a note  to  Mr.  Lucas,  after  thanking  him  for  some  proofs 
of  the  “ Salisbury,”  and  making  some  remarks  on  them,  he 
continues:  “ God  preserve  your  excellent  wife,  and  give  her 
a happy  hour;  I have  not  forgotten  my  own  anxieties  at 
such  times,  though  they  are  never  to  return.  I beg  to  thank 
you  again  and  again  for  the  most  lovely  winter  piece  I ever 
saw.2  You  have  caused  the  last  of  the  old  year  to  slip 

1 His  lectures,  in  which  he  says  much  of  the  “ Peter  Martyr,”  will 
explain  this. 

15  An  impression  of  the  “ Salisbury  ” taken  when  the  plate  was 
imperfectly  filled  with  ink,  and  which  had  accidentally  the  appear- 
ance of  winter.  Mr.  Lucas  had  sent  it  to  Constable  as  a curiosity. 


“ x^rundel  Mill  ” 227 

away  from  me  with  pleasurable  feelings;  we  have  now  only 
a quarter  of  an  hour  left  of  the  year  1836 ! Farewell.” 

“ January  19th,  1837.  Dear  Lucas.  We  must  keep  this 
proof  as  a criterion,  and  get  as  much  of  it  as  we  can.  The 
bow  is  grand  whole,  provided  it  is  clear  and  tender.  How 
I wish  I could  scratch  and  tear  away  with  your  tools  on  the 

steel,  just  as  old 1 wanted  to  fly  up  to  Langham  Hill, 

and  tear  the  trees  and  hedges  all  up  by  the  roots;  but  I 
can’t  do  it,  and  your  quiet  way  is,  I well  know,  the  best  and 
only  way.” 

“To  Mr.  George  Constable.  February  17th.  ..  . I 
cannot  give  much  account  of  myself,  but  we  have  all  been 
well,  and  have  escaped  this  sad  influenza,  which  has  been  the 
desolation  of  so  many  hundreds  of  all  ages.  John  is  the  most 
tender  of  us  all;  he  works  hard,  as  he  wishes  so  much  to 
get  himself  fit  for  Cambridge.  I believe  he  goes  in  October. 
As  the  spring  gets  up  he  would  be  delighted  to  pass  a few 
days  with  you ; he  looks  for  an  hour  at  his  old  fishing  place 
near  the  Black  Duck.  For  myself,  I am  at  work  on  a 
beautiful  subject,  ‘ Arundel  Mill,’  for  which  I am  indebted 
to  your  friendship.  It  is,  and  shall  be,  my  best  picture; 
the  size,  three  or  four  feet;  it  is  safe  for  the  Exhibition,  as 
we  have  as  much  as  six  weeks  good.  We  hold  our  first 
general  meeting  at  the  new  house  on  Monday,  and  a very 
noble  house  it  is.2  1 am  visitor  next  month  in  the  Life 
Academy,  which  I regret,  as  it  cuts  up  my  time;  but  I 
relieve,  by  exchange,  Turner.  My  great  ‘ Salisbury  ’ print  is 
done ; I shall  call  it  the  ‘ Rainbow ; ’ you  shall  soon  receive 
a proof  of  it.  Remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mrs.  Constable, 
and  all  your  family.  Pray  write  to  me  soon ; I long  to  know 
that  all  is  well  with  you.” 

“February  25th.  My  dear  Leslie.  I know  not  how  to 
reply  to  your  kind  request  to  come  to  you  on  Monday,  as  I 
am  engaged  with  my  assassin  on  that  day,  and  shall  be 
employed  with  him  all  the  week;  in  other  words,  I com- 
mence my  visitorship  at  the  Academy,  and  I shall  set  Titian’s 
figure  of  the  assassin  in  the  ‘ Peter  Martyr.’  I shall  turn 

1 A farmer,  who  by  his  restless  grasping  disposition  having  made 
some  of  his  neighbours  as  well  as  himself  very  uncomfortable,  uttered 
this  singular  wish. 

2 Constable  never  joined  in  the  popular  cry  against  the  architect  of 
the  National  Gallery,  for  not  building  a larger  house  than  the  ground 
given  for  the  purpose  permitted. 


228 


Life  of  Constable 


Fitzgerald  into  the  fallen  saint,  and  the  remaining  figure  of 
the  monk  I give  to  Emmet,  who  is  an  obliging  and  well- 
behaved  man,  and  anxious  for  a turn  at  the  Academy;  will 
not  this  flying  monk  sicken  him  ? I have  been  sadly  hindered, 
and  my  picture  is  not  worth  anything  at  present.  Roberts 
was  at  Hampstead  on  Thursday.  All  my  little  girls  are  well 
and  happy,  and  I really  believe  they  cannot  be  in  better 
hands  than  with  that  excellent  woman,  Miss  Noble.” 

“ March  18th.  Dear  Lucas.  Mr.  Cook,  the  Academician, 
said  yesterday,  that  the  * “ Salisbury  ” was  a grand-looking 
thing.’  I hope  that  obliging,  and  most  strange  and  odd 
ruffian,  your  printer,  will  be  allowed  to  have  just  his  own 
way  in  printing  the  plate,  for  I now  see  we  must  not  be  too 
full,  otherwise  it  will,  as  he  says,  ‘ only  be  fit  for  a parcel 
of  painters.’  ” 

No  date.  “ Dear  Lucas.  The  print  is  a noble  and  beau- 
tiful thing;  entirely  improved  and  entirely  made  perfect; 
the  bow  is  noble,  and  is  now  a neck  or  nothing  business;  it 
is  startling  and  unique.  I have  mentioned  to  your  clever 
and  agreeable  ruffian,  who  is  in  high  good  humour,  two 
things ; the  light  on  the  tower  under  the  trees  must  be  made 
thus  ” (here  a sketch)  “ instead  of  thus  ” (another  sketch); 
“ also  the  little  spot  on  the  cloud  your  ruffian  will  show  you, 
and  he  pointed  out  a good  way  of  doing  it;  half  an  hour 
will  alter  both.  Thank  you  for  the  pains  you  have  taken 
with  the  bow;  it  is  lovely.  I hope  you  are  better.  I must 
now  dismiss  the  ruffian,  for  he  is  getting  too  knowing  for 
John  and  me.” 

“ Dear  Lucas.  Your  man  has  told  me  that  there  is  every 
reason  to  know  that  the  ‘ Salisbury  ’ will  print  both  full  and 
rich.  Tone,  tone,  is  the  most  seductive  and  inviting  quality 
a picture  or  print  can  possess;  it  is  the  first  thing  seen,  and 
like  a flower,  invites  to  our  examination  of  the  plant  itself. 

. . . Your  man  is  a droll  fellow.  I have  given  him  two 
shillings,  but  it  was  before  he  had  told  me  that  he  ‘ is  given 
to  break  out  of  a Saturday  night,  but  it  does  not  last  long,  and 
generally  goes  off  on  the  Sunday  morning.’  He  cannot  help 
it,  he  cannot  even  account  for  it,  but  so  it  is.  This  is  his 
own  gratuitous  account  of  himself.  What  a creature  is  man, 
either  cultivated  or  not,  either  civilised  or  wild!  I offered 
him  some  rum  and  water,  and  gin  and  water,  all  of  which 
he  refused  almost  with  loathing;  perhaps  his  hour  is  not  yet 
come.” 


Last  Address  to  the  Students  229 

“ To  Mr.  Samuel  Lane.  March.  My  dear  Lane.  . . . 
Pray  keep  your  children  within  doors  this  grievous  weather; 
I am  told  nothing  breeds  whooping  cough  so  much  as  such 
bitter  easterly  winds  as  are  now  prevailing.  I am  out  every 
evening  from  five  to  nine  at  the  old  Academy,  visitor  in  the 
Life.” 

The  recollection  that  Constable  was  very  sensitive  to  atmo- 
spheric influences,  and  that  his  health  had  many  times 
suffered  in  the  early  part  of  the  spring,  recalls  to  my  mind  the 
passage  from  Shakespeare  I have  most  often  heard  him  repeat: 

“ daffodils, 

That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty, — ” 

they  were,  now,  indeed,  winds  of  ominous  import  to  him. 

He  was  the  last  visitor  who  officiated  in  the  Life  Academy 
within  the  walls  of  Somerset  House.  On  the  concluding 
evening  of  his  attendance,  he  made  a short  address  to  the 
students,  pointing  out  to  them  the  many  advantages  our 
Academy  affords,  and  cautioning  them  not  to  be  in  too  great 
haste  to  exchange  these  for  instruction  in  the  schools  of 
France,  Germany,  or  Italy.  He  was  of  opinion  that  the 
best  school  of  art  will  always  exist  in  that  country  where 
there  are  the  best  living  artists,  and  not  merely  where  there 
are  the  greatest  number  of  works  of  the  old  masters.  He 
did  not  admit  that  the  French  excel  the  best  of  the  English 
artists  in  drawing,  a point  generally  conceded  to  them; 
and  in  support  of  his  own  opinion  he  quoted  that  of  Mr. 
Stothard,  who  said,  “ The  French  are  very  good  mathematical 
draughtsmen,  but  life  and  motion  are  the  essence  of  drawing, 
and  their  figures  remind  us  too  much  of  statues.  In  the 
slightest  pen  and  ink  sketches  of  Raphael,  however  irregular 
the  proportions,  you  have  the  real  principle  of  good  drawing, 
— his  figures  live  and  move.” 

This  is  but  a recollection,  at  some  distance  of  time,  of  what 
Constable  told  me  he  said.  I wrote  to  Mr.  Maclise,  who 
was  then  a student  in  the  Life  School,  to  ask  if  he  could 
help  me  to  anything  more,  and  that  gentleman  very  kindly 
sent  me  the  following  note,  enclosing  a pencil  sketch  he  had 
made  of  Constable  in  the  Academy. 

“ 14,  Russell  Place.  My  dear  Sir.  I cannot  call  to  mind 
the  substance  of  any  particular  address  of  Constable  when  he 
was  visitor,  but  I recollect  that  he  constantly  addressed  us 


230  Life  of  Constable 

collectively;  or  rather,  whatever  observation  he  had  to  make, 
he  made  aloud ; and  this  was  very  frequent.  Every  evening 
he  said  something,  generally  relating  to  the  model  he  had 
set,  and  in  favour  of  certain  picturesque  accompaniments 
which  he  thought  might  always  be  introduced  with  pro- 
priety; 1 he  was,  with  the  students,  a most  popular  visitor. 
The  little  sketch  was  made  under  the  disadvantage  of  my 
being  on  the  upper  and  back  seat,  looking  down  on  him  as 
he  sat  on  the  front  and  lower  one  in  the  Life  School,  and 
must  have  been  when  he  set  the  Eve,  although  I should  not 
have  thought  it  was  so  long  ago  as  1830. — I remain,  very 
faithfully  yours,  D.  Maclise.” 

“ March  29th.  Dear  Lucas.  I am  greatly  pleased  to  see 
how  well  you  are  preparing  for  the  new  bow;2  the  proof  is 
about  what  I want;  I mean  that  you  took  hence.  I took 
from  the  elder  bush  a blossom  to  the  left,  you  will  possibly  do 
the  same.  Go  on  as  you  think  proper.  I go  to  a general 
meeting  on  Thursday,  to-morrow  evening,  and  I dine  at  the 
Charter  House  on  Saturday.  We  cannot  fail  with  a proper 
bow.  The  ruffian  is  so  delightful,  that  no  one  would  for  a 
moment  judge  him  to  be  one;  so  bland,  so  delighted  with 
John,  and  John  with  him;  they  are  both  in  the  room.” 

This  note  may,  perhaps,  be  the  last  Constable  ever  wrote. 
The  engagement  mentioned  in  it  to  dine  with  Dr.  Fisher, 
the  father  of  Archdeacon  Fisher,  at  the  Charter  House,  was 
for  Saturday,  the  1st  of  April,  but  the  dawn  of  that  day  he 
never  saw.  His  constitution  was  undermined  to  a degree  of 
which  he  was  not  himself  aware,  far  less  his  friends,  for 

1 This  reminds  me  of  what  I have  often  heard  Constable  say,  that 
he  “ never  could  look  at  any  object  unconnected  with  a background 
or  other  objects,”  and  he  thought  the  students  might  very  advan- 
tageously to  themselves  be  taught  at  an  early  age  to  look  at  nature 
in  this  way.  For  this  reason  all  his  figures  were  set  with  backgrounds 
and  other  accompaniments.  A difference  of  opinion  exists  as  to  the 
expediency  of  this  method  of  teaching,  and  it  is  one  of  the  charges 
brought  against  the  Academy,  that  the  students  are  placed  under  the 
care  "of  various  instructors,  who  have  each  their  own  notions;  and  yet 
this  may  possibly  be  an  advantage,  when  it  is  considered  that  the 
opinions  of  any  one  man  can  scarcely  be  right  on  all  points;  and  also 
that  the  Life  is  the  highest  school  in  the  Academy,  and  that  in  which 
the  students  may  be  supposed  to  have  arrived  at  an  age  to  judge  in 
some  measure  for  themselves;  and  that  they  are  not  placed  under 
more  than  one  master  until  they  have  entered  the  Life  School. 

2 From  the  manner  in  which  this  is  expressed,  it  would  appear  that 
the  rainbow  had  been  taken  out,  and  a new  one  was  to  be  put  in, 
but  this  was  not  the  case;  the  “ new  bow  ” was  the  one  with  which 
Constable  had  before  expressed  himself  so  much  pleased. 


Causes  of  Ill-health 


231 

sedentary  and  irregular  as  were  his  habits,  he  had  not  the 
look  of  a valetudinarian,  nor  would  his  age  have  been  easily 
guessed  from  his  appearance.  Not  long  before  the  time  of 
which  I am  writing,  I had  remarked  to  him  that  I should 
guess  him  to  be  younger  than  he  really  was,  to  which  he 
answered, 

“In  my  youth  I never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  to  my  blood,”  etc. 

But  the  reader  has  seen  how  far  his  mind  was  from  being  an 
equable  one.  In  reference  to  his  art,  he  would  sometimes 
say  he  “ thanked  Heaven  he  had  no  imagination,”  though  in 
reality  few  men  ever  had  more;  and  if  it  heightened  all  his 
enjoyments,  it  greatly  deepened  all  his  sorrows.  He  had 
fully  proved  the  truth  of  Burns’  lines: 

“ Dearly  bought  the  hidden  treasure 
Finer  feelings  can  bestow; 

Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure 
Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe.” 

Had  Constable  been  even  less  sensitive,  the  perpetual  activity 
of  a mind  that  could  not  rest  must  have  affected  his  consti- 
tution at  no  very  late  period.  His  very  amusements  con- 
sisted of  study.  I do  not  think  he  ever  read  a novel  in  his 
life.  It  was  on  no  narrow  principle  that  he  objected  to 
works  of  fiction,  but  they  did  not  interest  him.  I remember 
soon  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Constable,  when  books  were 
proposed  to  him  as  a relief  to  his  mind,  he  said,  “ I should 
be  delighted  to  read  Tom  Thumb  if  it  could  amuse  me.” 
If  her  loss  had  been  but  that  of  an  assistant  in  his  parental 
duties,  and  a partaker  of  the  cares  of  a family,  he  must  have 
felt  it  daily;  how  much  more  heavy,  then,  must  have  been 
his  affliction  for  the  loss  of  a wife  in  whom  no  hope  formed 
by  him  during  the  days  of  courtship  had  been  disappointed, 
excepting  the  hope  of  her  longer  continuance  on  earth.  His 
married  years  were  unquestionably  the  happiest  of  his  exist- 
ence. In  Fisher  and  the  younger  Dunthorne,  he  was  also 
bereft  of  friends  whose  places  were  never  supplied  to  him; 
and  his  professional  life  had  been  a continual  struggle  for 
the  estimation  which  he  felt  he  deserved,  but  which  he  had 
now  ceased  to  expect.  If  his  intimate  friends  were  but 
imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  real  state  of  his  feelings, 
those  who  knew  him  but  slightly,  and  who  seldom  saw  him 


232  Life  of  Constable 

unless  surrounded  by  smiles  of  his  own  creating,  could  not 
have  believed  how  much  he  was  now  a prey  to  melancholy 
and  anxious  thoughts;  thoughts,  no  doubt,  in  part,  both 
the  cause  and  effect  of  declining  health.  The  reader  will 
remember  a passage  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mr.  Fisher,  in 
which  he  says,  “ all  my  indispositions  have  their  source  in 
my  mind.  It  is  when  I am  restless  and  unhappy  that  I 
become  susceptible  of  cold,  damp,  heats,  and  such  nonsense.” 

On  Thursday,  the  30th  of  March,  I met  him  at  a general 
assembly  of  the  Academy,  and  as  the  night,  though  very  cold, 
was  fine,  he  walked  a great  part  of  the  way  home  with  me. 
The  most  trifling  occurrences  of  that  evening  remain  on  my 
memory.  As  we  proceeded  along  Oxford  Street,  he  heard 
a child  cry  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way;  the  griefs  of 
childhood  never  failed  to  arrest  his  attention,  and  he  crossed 
over  to  a little  beggar  girl  who  had  hurt  her  knee;  he  gave 
her  a shilling  and  some  kind  words,  which,  by  stopping  her 
tears,  showed  that  the  hurt  was  not  very  serious,  and  we 
continued  our  walk. — Some  pecuniary  losses  he  had  lately 
met  with  had  disturbed  him,  but  more  because  they  involved 
him  with  persons  disposed  to  take  advantage  of  his  good 
feelings,  than  from  their  amount.  He  spoke  of  these  with 
some  degree  of  irritation,  but  turned  to  more  agreeable 
subjects,  and  we  parted  at  the  west  end  of  Oxford  Street, 
laughing. — I never  saw  him  again  alive. 

The  whole  of  the  next  day  he  was  busily  engaged  finishing 
his  picture  of  “ Arundel  Mill  and  Castle.”  One  or  two  of 
his  friends  who  called  on  him  saw  that  he  was  not  well,  but 
they  attributed  this  to  confinement  and  anxiety  with  his 
picture,  which  was  to  go  in  a few  days  to  the  Exhibition. 
In  the  evening,  he  walked  out  for  a short  time  on  a charitable 
errand  connected  with  the  Artists’  Benevolent  Fund.  He 
returned  about  nine  o’clock,  ate  a hearty  supper,  and  feeling 
chilly,  had  his  bed  warmed,  a luxury  he  rarely  indulged  in. 
It  was  his  custom  to  read  in  bed;  between  ten  and  eleven 
he  had  read  himself  to  sleep,  and  his  candle,  as  usual,  was 
removed  by  a servant.  Soon  after  this,  his  eldest  son,  who 
had  been  at  the  theatre,  returned  home,  and  while  preparing 
for  bed  in  the  next  room,  his  father  awoke  in  great  pain, 
and  called  to  him.  So  little  was  Constable  alarmed,  however, 
that  he  at  first  refused  to  send  for  medical  assistance;  he 
took  some  rhubarb  and  magnesia,  which  produced  sickness, 


Death  and  Funeral 


233 

and  he  drank  copiously  of  warm  water,  which  occasioned 
vomiting;  but  the  pain  increasing,  he  desired  that  Mr. 
Michele,  his  near  neighbour,  should  be  sent  for,  who  very 
soon  attended.  In  the  meantime  Constable  had  fainted,  his 
son  supposing  he  had  fallen  asleep;  Mr.  Michele  instantly 
.ordered  some  brandy  to  be  brought,  the  bedroom  of  the 
patient  was  at  the  top  of  the  house,  the  servant  had  to  run 
downstairs  for  it,  and  before  it  could  be  procured,  life  was 
extinct;  and  within  half  an  hour  of  the  first  attack  of  pain. 

A post  mortem  investigation  was  made  by  Professor 
Partridge  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  George  Young  and  Mr. 
Michele,  but  strange  to  say,  the  extreme  pain  Constable  had 
suffered  could  only  be  traced  to  indigestion;  no  indications 
of  disease  were  anywhere  discovered  sufficient,  in  the  opinion 
of  those  gentlemen,  to  have  produced  at  that  time  a fatal 
result.  Mr.  Michele,  in  a letter  to  me,  describing  all  he  had 
witnessed,  says,  “It  is  barely  possible  that  the  prompt 
application  of  a stimulant  might  have  sustained  the  vital 
principle,  and  induced  reaction  in  the  functions  necessary  to 
the  maintenance  of  life.” 

Constable’s  eldest  son  was  prevented  from  attending  the 
funeral  by  an  illness,  brought  on  by  the  painful  excitement 
he  had  suffered;  but  the  two  brothers  of  the  deceased  and  a 
few  of  his  most  intimate  friends  followed  the  body  to  Hamp- 
stead,1 where  some  of  the  gentlemen  residing  there,  who  had 
known  Constable,  voluntarily  joined  the  procession  in  the 
churchyard.  The  vault  which  contained  the  remains  of  his 
wife  was  opened,  he  was  laid  by  her  side,  and  the  inscription 
which  he  had  placed  on  the  tablet  over  it, 

“ Eheu!  quam  tenui  e filo  pendet 
Quidquid  in  vita  maxime  arridet ! ” 

might  well  be  applied  to  the  loss  his  family  and  friends  had 
now  sustained.  The  funeral  service  was  read  by  one  of  those 
friends,  the  Rev.  T.  J.  Judkin,  whose  tears  fell  fast  on  the 
book  as  he  stood  by  the  tomb. 

1 1 cannot  but  recall  here  a passage  in  a letter  to  Mr.  Fisher,  written 
by  Constable  nearly  ten  years  before  his  death,  in  which,  after  speak- 
ing of  having  removed  his  family  to  Hampstead,  he  says,  “ I could 
gladly  exclaim,  here  let  me  take  my  everlasting  rest!  ” 


CHAPTER  XVII 


Picture  of  “ Arundel  Mill  and  Castle  ” exhibited,  1837.  Presentation  of 
the  Picture  of  the  “ Cornfield  ” to  the  National  Gallery.  Letter 
from  Mr.  Andrew  Robertson.  Constable  and  Hogarth  compared. 
Traits  of  Constable’s  Character  described  by  Mr.  George  Field. 
Farther  Particulars.  Selections  from  Constable’s  miscellaneous 
Memoranda.  Note  from  Mr.  Collins.  Pictures  injured  by  cutting, 
enlarging,  etc.  Forgeries  of  Constable’s  Pictures.  Recollections 
of  his  Sayings  and  Opinions.  The  Author’s  Visit  to  East  Bergholt, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Purton  and  John  Constable,  Junior.  Mr. 
Purton’s  Remarks  on  Constable’s  Art.  Sketch  Books.  . 

By  a law  of  the  Royal  Academy,  works,  not  before  exhibited, 
of  a deceased  artist  are  allowed  to  appear  in  the  first  exhibi- 
tion, and  that  one  only,  which  follows  his  death;  and  Con- 
stable’s picture  of  “ Arundel  Mill  and  Castle  ” was  considered 
by  his  friends  sufficiently  completed  to  be  sent  to  the 
Academy.  He  had  begun  two  smaller  pictures,  but  they 
were  not  forward  enough  to  be  admitted  even  as  sketches; 
and  the  “ Mill  ” was  therefore  the  only  work  of  his  pencil 
that  graced  the  Exhibition  of  1837,  the  first  in  Trafalgar 
Square.  The  scene  was  one  entirely  after  his  own  heart, 
and  he  had  taken  great  pains  to  render  it  complete  in  all 
its  details;  and  in  that  silvery  brightness  of  effect  which 
was  a chief  aim  with  him,  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  it 
is  not  surpassed  by  any  production  of  his  pencil.  It  remains 
in  the  possession  of  his  children,  being  one  of  those  reserved 
from  the  sale  of  his  works  by  his  eldest  son. 

Before  the  property  Constable  left,  in  pictures,  was  dis- 
persed, it  was  suggested  by  Mr.  Purton  that  one  of  his  works 
should  be  purchased  by  a subscription  among  the  admirers 
of  his  genius,  and  presented  to  the  National  Gallery.  He 
proposed  that  the  large  picture  of  “ Salisbury  from  the 
Meadows,”  should  be  chosen  as  being  from  its  magnitude, 
subject,  and  grandeur  of  treatment,  the  best  suited  to  the 
public  collection.  But  it  was  thought  by  the  majority  of 
Constable’s  friends  that  the  boldness  of  its  execution  rendered 
it  less  likely  to  address  itself  to  the  general  taste  than  others 
of  his  works,  and  the  picture  of  the  “ Cornfield,”  painted 
in  1826,  was  selected  in  its  stead. — As  I felt  much  interested 

234 


Letter  from  Mr.  A.  Robertson  235 

in  this  proceeding,  I wrote  on  the  subject  to  those  of  Con- 
stable’s friends  whom  I thought  likely  to  join  in  it,  and  from 
among  the  replies  I received,  I trust  Mr.  Andrew  Robertson 
will  forgive  the  publication  of  his. 

“ 19,  Berners  Street,  August  21st,  1837.  My  dear  Sir,  I 
have  had  this  day  the  melancholy  gratification,  if  I may 
combine  such  terms,  of  again  visiting  the  gallery  of  our 
lamented  friend  Constable.  The  great  number  of  his  works 
left  in  his  possession  proves  too  clearly  how  little  his  merits 
were  felt  by  those  who  could  afford,  and  ought  to  have 
possessed  them;  and  that  unless  some  such  a measure  had 
been  adopted  as  that  which,  to  the  honour  of  his  friends,  has 
been  carried  into  effect,  it  is  too  probable  that  his  works 
would  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  artists  only,  for  a mere 
trifle,  and  remained  comparatively  buried,  till  dug  up,  as 
it  were,  and  brought  to  light  in  another  age.  Much,  indeed, 
should  I regret  to  have  lost  the  opportunity  of  having  my 
name  enrolled  in  the  list  of  those  who  bear  testimony  to  the 
merits  of  genius  so  original,  so  English,  so  alive  to  the 
beauties  of  simple  nature,  and  of  whom  it  may  be  said  so 
truly,  that  he  was 

‘ Nullius  addictus  jurare  in  verba  magistri.’ 

He  had  his  peculiarities,  but  they  were  not  in  conception, 
nor  in  the  way  in  which  he  looked  at  nature;  he  saw  clearly, 
and  not  through  a glass  darkly,  nor  through  other  men’s 
eyes.  His  peculiarities  were  only  in  his  execution,  and  in 
the  admirable  picture  selected  for  his  monument  in  the 
National  Gallery,  we  find  all  his  truth  of  conception,  with 
less  of  the  manner  that  was  objected  to,  than  in  most  of  his 
later  works.  I remain,  my  dear  sir,  always  truly  and 
sincerely  yours,  A.  Robertson.” 

In  some  points  of  Constable’s  character  a striking  resem- 
blance may  be  traced  to  that  of  Hogarth.  Though  their 
walks  of  art  were  wide  apart,  yet  each  formed  a style  more 
truly  original  than  that  of  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and 
this,  in  part,  prevented  each  from  enjoying  the  fame  to  which 
he  was  entitled.1  They  both  incurred  the  imputation  of 

1 Hogarth’s  prints  were  popular;  for  his  wit,  his  satire,  and  his 
matchless  power  of  expression  were  felt; — but  the  taste  and  richness 
of  his  compositions,  and  the  beauty  of  his  colour,  in  other  words  his 
art , was  not.  One  circumstance  alone  proves  this, — he  could  not 
obtain  for  the  six  pictures  of  the  “ Marriage- &-la-Mode,”  together 
more  than  one  hundred  and  ten  guineas. 


Life  of  Constable 


236 

vanity,  perhaps  from  much  vainer  men,  because  they  vindi- 
cated their  own  merits. — Hogarth  expressed  in  a witty 
etching  (“  The  Battle  of  the  Pictures  ”)  his  sense  of  the 
injustice  he  suffered  from  the  connoisseurs,  and  Constable 
spoke  his  opinions  openly  of  the  critics;  and  with  point, 
truth,  and  freedom,  as  did  Hogarth,  of  contemporary  artists, 
and  each  by  so  doing,  made  bitter  enemies. — In  conclusion, 
they  were  both  genuine  Englishmen;  warmly  attached 
to  the  character  and  institutions  of  their  country;  alike 
quick  in  detecting  cant  and  quackery,  not  only  in  religion 
and  politics,  but  in  taste  and  in  the  arts;  and  though  they 
sometimes  may  have  carried  the  prejudices  of  their  John 
Bullism  too  far,  they  each  deserved  well  of  their  country, 
as  steady  opponents  to  the  influence  of  foreign  vice,  folly, 
and  bad  taste ; in  which,  however,  Hogarth’s  class  of  subjects 
enabled  him  to  exert  himself  with  far  the  most  effect. 

The  object  I have  endeavoured  to  keep  in  view  throughout 
the  preceding  pages  being  to  give  an  account  of  Constable’s 
life  and  occupations  as  much  as  possible  in  his  own  words, 
my  extracts  from  his  letters  have  been  necessarily  limited 
to  passages  relating  chiefly  to  himself;  but  had  not  this, 
and  the  reserve  due  to  other  persons,  prevented  my  quoting 
these  papers  more  at  length,  it  would  be  seen  that  in  very 
many  of  them  his  own  affairs  occupied  the  least  part  of 
his  attention.  Many  indeed  of  his  notes  and  letters  have 
been  entirely  unavailable  to  me  on  this  account,  excepting 
in  as  far  as  they  have  added  to  the  high  opinion  I had  before 
formed  of  the  kindliness  of  his  nature. 

My  friend,  Mr.  George  Field,  who  knew  him  long  and 
intimately,  says,  in  a letter  to  me,  “ Of  Constable’s  benevo- 
lent feelings  and  acts  a volume  of  instances  might  be  recorded, 
and  no  better  proof  of  his  genuine  worth  can  be  adduced 
than  that  affluence  did  not  spoil  the  artist,  while  it  very 
much  improved  the  man.” 

In  another  of  his  obliging  communications  to  me,  Mr. 
Field  says,  “ At  all  times  of  the  day,  at  night,  and  in  all 
seasons  of  the  year,  Constable  had  inexpressible  delight  in 
viewing  the  works  of  nature.  I have  been  out  with  him 
after  all  colour  of  the  landscape  had  disappeared,  and  objects 
were  seen  only  as  skeletons  and  masses,  yet  his  eye  was  still 
active  for  his  art.  4 These  were  the  things,’  said  he,  4 that 
Gainsborough  studied,  and  of  which  we  have  so  many 


Mr.  George  Field  237 

exquisite  specimens  in  his  drawings.’ 1 Constable  found 
undecorated  beauties  in  the  nakedness  of  winter  when  he 
lavished  admiration  on  the  anatomy  of  trees,  etc.  He  well 
knew  the  language  of  a windmill,  and  by  its  expressions 
could  tell  you  of  the  winds,  and  of  the  skies,  and  besides  this 
he  knew  many  other  tongues  that  are  not  written,  and  are 
too  little  studied  and  understood  for  the  boundless  authorities 
they  furnish  to  artists,  to  poets,  to  philosophers,  and  all 
true  lovers  of  the  wisdom  of  nature.  To  this  attachment 
to  nature  and  averseness  to  factitious  studies,  he  probably 
owed  the  originality  of  thought,  expression,  and  manners 
by  which  he  was  distinguished;  which,  however  sometimes 
savouring  of  rusticity  and  destitute  of  the  artifice  and  con- 
vention of  society,  were  marked  by  an  unrestrained  amiable- 
ness and  real  refinement  which  were  his  own.  This  clash 
of  nature  and  artifice  appears  also  to  have  given  rise  to  the 
incessant  workings  of  a humorous  satire,  by  which  he  con- 
tinually levelled  the  pretensions  of  others,  which  although 
not  entirely  inoffensive  was  generally  just,  and  few  ventured 
to  face  it.  It  subjected  him  and  his  peculiarities,  however, 
to  assailments  from  anonymous,  injudicious,  and  pointless 
criticism,  which  a less  genuine  and  more  courtly  carriage 
might  have  saved  him  from,  or  transformed  into  praise  or 
fame,  patronage  or  profit.  These  anonymous  attacks  served 
him  for  a spur,  and  his  satirical  humour  for  a theme,  with 
which  he  entertained  his  friends  at  the  time,  although  his 
heart  was  naturally  too  affectionate  to  all  the  world  to  be 
insensible  to  praise,  for  affection  seeks  affection,  and  praise 
is  love.  It  is  remarkable  of  our  most  eminent  landscape 
painters,  in  common  with  genius  in  other  shapes,  that  they 
have  been  subjected  by  this  natural  independence  of  thought 
and  action  to  frequent  misprise  and  neglect  during  their 
lives,  and  the  incomparable  Wilson  was  an  instance  of  it. 
But  in  him  this  quality  wrought  more  asperity  than  in 
Constable.  Was  this  to  be  attributed  to  difference  in  the 
circumstances  of  fortune  or  of  disposition  in  these  great 
painters?  ” 

These  extracts  from  the  letters  of  Mr.  Field  contain  but 
a part  of  the  assistance  with  which  he  has  favoured  me. 

In  the  winter  seasons,  after  he  could  afford  it,  Constable 

1 Several  very  fine  sketches  by  Gainsborough,  in  black  and  white 
chalk,  hung  in  Constable’s  parlour. 


Life  of  Constable 


238 

frequently  sent  clothes  and  blankets  to  be  distributed  among 
the  poor  of  his  native  village;  indeed  no  feature  of  his 
character  was  more  amiable  than  his  sympathy  with  the 
sufferings  of  the  humbler  classes,  and  his  consideration  for 
their  feelings  in  all  respects.  He  possessed  that  innate,  and 
only  real  gentility,  of  which  the  test  is  conduct  towards 
inferiors  and  strangers;  he  was  a gentleman  to  the  poorest 
of  his  species, — a gentleman  in  a stage  coach,  nay  more, — 
a gentleman  at  a stage  coach  inn  dinner. 

A mind  like  Constable’s,  united  to  a nervous  temperament 
so  sensitive,  could  not  be  indifferent  to  music.  In  his  youth 
he  was  a good  flute  player,  but  he  laid  the  instrument  aside 
as  he  found  that  painting  required  his  whole  attention. 
Preferring  simplicity  and  expression  to  an  ostentatious 
display  of  art,  I remember  that  at  a musical  party  during 
a trio  in  Italian,  with  which  his  ears  were  stunned,  and  which 
was  only  fit  for  the  vast  area  of  the  Opera  House,  he  whis- 
pered to  me,  “ I dare  say  it  is  very  fine,  for  it  is  very  dis- 
agreeable; but  if  these  people  were  to  make  such  a noise 
before  your  door  or  mine,  we  should  send  for  the  police  to 
take  them  away.” 

The  following  may  be  placed  here  as  connected  with  this 
subject.  I found  it  among  his  papers  in  his  handwriting; 
and  it  was  no  doubt  a draught  of  a paragraph  inserted  by  him 
in  a provincial  newspaper. 

“ Died  on  the  29th  ult.  at  Great  Wenham,  Thomas  Chever- 
ton,  aged  48  years,  leaving  a widow  and  nine  children.  This 
individual,  although  in  the  humble  condition  of  a day 
labourer,  may  fairly  claim  some  further  notice  in  our  obituary 
from  the  circumstance  of  his  being  gifted  with  a most  extra- 
ordinary voice;  one  of  the  fullest,  richest,  and  sweetest 
counter  tenors  ever,  perhaps,  heard.  He  could  with  ease 
ascend  to  D,  and  even  to  E in  Alt.  His  knowledge  in  the 
science  of  music  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  and  his 
appearance  in  the  humble  choirs  of  the  village  churches  in 
his  immediate  neighbourhood  was  always  hailed  with  silent 
satisfaction  even  by  the  best  educated  people.  He  was  gentle 
and  affectionate  to  his  family,  who  are  now  thrown  on  a 
world,  too  busy,  it  is  feared,  to  cast  a look  on  beings  so 
humble,  or  to  extend  the  hand  of  charity  to  objects  so 
unobtrusive  and  friendless.  August  1st,  1831.” 

Among  the  papers  with  which  I found  this,  were  many 


Selections  from  Constable’s  Papers  239 

separate  scraps,  containing  notes,  memoranda,  and  quota- 
tions, many  of  them,  no  doubt,  intended  to  assist  him  in  his 
lectures.  The  following  are  selections  from  them,  and  from 
a few  of  his  unpublished  letters. 

“ When  young,  I was  extremely  fond  of  reading  poetry, 
and  also  fond  of  music,  and  I played  myself  a little ; but  as  I 
advanced  in  life  and  in  art,  I soon  gave  up  the  latter;  and 
now  after  thirty  years,  I must  say  that  the  sister  arts  have 
less  hold  on  my  mind  in  its  occasional  ramblings  from  my 
one  pursuit  than  the  sciences,  especially  the  study  of  geology, 
which,  more  than  any  other,  seems  to  satisfy  my  mind. 
November  10th,  1835.” 

“ The  difference  between  power  and  truth  is  very  material 
in  painting,  as  it  is  in  other  matters  of  taste.  It  may  be 
illustrated  by  an  anecdote  of  Barry  and  Garrick.  Few  actors 
had  more  power  than  Barry;  indeed,  he  was  able  for  some 
time  to  divide  the  admiration  of  the  town  with  Garrick. 
They  played  Lear  in  competition  fifty  nights ; but  the  public 
were  set  right  by  an  epigram,  which  placed  the  distinction 
between  them  in  the  proper  light,  the  last  line  of  which 
was 

‘ To  Barry  we  give  loud  applause,  to  Garrick  only  tears.’  ” 

“ * System  can  by  no  means  be  thrown  aside.  Without 
system,  the  field  of  nature  would  be  a pathless  wilderness; 
but  system  should  be  subservient  to,  not  the  main  object  of, 
our  pursuit.’ — White  of  Selborne .” 

“ This  imitation  of  an  elegantly  touched  drawing  by 
Waterloo  was  one  of  my  earliest  instructors. — J.  C. — Pre- 
sented to  me  by  J.  T.  Smith,  1798.” — (Written  on  the  back 
of  a pen  drawing.) 

“ Connoisseurs  think  the  art  is  already  done.” 

“ I have  never  seen  anything  in  the  art  yet  with  which  I 
have  been  entirely  satisfied.  The  least  mannered,  and  con- 
sequently the  best  pictures  I have  seen,  are  some  of  the  works 
of  De  Hooge,  particularly  one  of  an  outdoor  subject,  at  Sir 


Life  of  Constable 


240 

Robert  Peel’s.  His  indoors  are  as  good,  but  less  difficult, 
as  being  less  lustrous.”  1 

“ The  world  is  wide;  no  two  days  are  alike,  nor  even  two 
hours;  neither  were  there  ever  two  leaves  of  a tree  alike 
since  the  creation  of  the  world;  and  the  genuine  productions 
of  art,  like  those  of  nature,  are  all  distinct  from  each  other.” 

“ In  such  an  age  as  this,  painting  should  be  understood , 
not  looked  on  with  blind  wonder,  nor  considered  only  as  a 
poetic  aspiration,  but  as  a pursuit,  legitimate , scientific , and 
mechanical .” 

“ The  old  rubbish  of  art,  the  musty,  commonplace, 
wretched  pictures  which  gentlemen  collect,  hang  up,  and 
display  to  their  friends,  may  be  compared  to  Shakespeare’s 

‘ Beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 

Alligators  stuffed,’  etc. 

Nature  is  anything  but  this,  either  in  poetry,  painting,  or 
in  the  fields.” 

“ Barry  thought,  to  be  great  he  must  reject  the  attributes 
of  painting;  hence  the  iron-bound  outline  and  brazen  lights 
of  his  pictures  in  the  Adelphi.” 

“ The  most  perfect  of  all  masters  of  real  chiaroscuro  are 
Claude  and  Ostade.  The  chiaroscuro  of  Rembrandt  is 
decidedly  an  artificial  feature  in  his  works;  he  painted 
expressly  for  it;  it  was  his  own  peculiar  language,  and  used 
by  him  to  express  the  sentiment.” 

“What  were  the  habits  of  Claude  and  the  Poussins? 
though  surrounded  with  palaces  filled  with  pictures,  they 
made  the  fields  their  chief  places  of  study.” 

“ Cowper  numbered  it  among  his  advantages  as  a com- 
poser that  he  had  read  so  little  poetry;  for  ‘ imitation,’  said 
he,  ‘ even  of  the  best  models  is  my  aversion ; it  is  servile  and 

1 Constable  would  not  have  said  that  such  works  were  the  greatest 
achievements  of  art;  he  merely  meant  that  they  were  the  most  per 
feet,  in  the  sense  in  which  some  minor  poems  may  be  considered  more 
perfect  than  the  Iliad , or  the  Paradise  Lost. 


Selections  from  Constable's  Papers  241 

mechanical;  a trick  that  has  enabled  many  to  usurp  the 
name  of  author,  who  could  not  have  written  at  all,  if  they 
had  not  written  upon  the  pattern  of  somebody  indeed 
original.’  ” 1 

“ The  folly  of  imitation  is  well  shown  in  the  fable  of 
‘ The  Ass  and  the  Lap-dog.’  ” 

“ ‘ I hate  e’en  Garrick  when  at  secondhand.’ — Churchill.” 

“ Mr.  W is  conscious  of  being  a great  mannerist,  and 

that  he  is  thought  so.  He  was  told  how  much  trouble  his 
picture  had  given  the  Council  on  that  account,  for  that  it 
would  hang  with  nothing  else;  he  was  hurt,  and  said, 
4 manner  might  be  either  good  or  bad;’  but  Fuseli  makes 
the  true  distinction  between  style  and  manner .” 

“ Lord  Bacon  says,  ‘ Cunning  is  crooked  wisdom.  Nothing 
is  more  hurtful  than  when  cunning  men  pass  for  wise.’ — 
This  is  mannerism  in  painting.  The  mannerists  are  cunning 
people;  and  the  misfortune  is,  the  public  are  not  able  to 
discriminate  between  their  pictures  and  true  painting.” 

“ Manner  is  always  seductive.  It  is  more  or  less  an 
imitation  of  what  has  been  done  already, — therefore  always 
plausible.  It  promises  the  short  road,  the  near  cut  to  present 
fame  and  emolument,  by  availing  ourselves  of  the  labours 
of  others.  It  leads  to  almost  immediate  reputation,  because 
it  is  the  wonder  of  the  ignorant  world.  It  is  always  accom- 
panied by  certain  blandishments,  showy  and  plausible,  and 
which  catch  the  eye.  As  manner  comes  by  degrees,  and  is 
fostered  by  success  in  the  world,  flattery,  etc.,  all  painters 
who  would  be  really  great  should  be  perpetually  on  their 
guard  against  it.  Nothing  but  a close  and  continual  obser- 
vance of  nature  can  protect  them  from  the  danger  of  becoming 
mannerists.” 

“ 1 Is  it  not  folly,’  said  Mr.  Northcote  to  me  in  the  Exhi- 
bition, as  we  were  standing  before ’s  picture,  ‘ for  a 

1 The  last  book  Constable  had  been  reading,  and  on  which  his  atten- 
tion had  probably  been  engaged  little  more  than  an  hour  before  his 
death,  was  a volume  of  Southey’s  Life  of  Cowper,  containing  the  poet’s 
letters. 


Q 


242  Life  of  Constable 

man  to  paint  what  he  can  never  see?  is  it  not  sufficiently 
difficult  to  paint  what  he  does  see?  ’ 1 — This  delightful  lesson 
leads  me  to  ask,  what  is  painting  but  an  imitative  art?  an 
art  that  is  to  realise,  not  to  feign.  I constantly  observe  that 
every  man  who  will  not  submit  to  long  toil  in  the  imitation 
of  nature,  flies  off,  becomes  a phantom,  and  produces  dreams 
of  nonsense,  and  abortions.  He  thinks  to  screen  himself 
under  ‘ a fine  imagination,’  which  is  generally,  and  almost 
always  in  young  men,  the  scapegoat  of  folly  and  idleness.” 

“ ‘ Rien  est  beau  que  le  vrai.’ — Boileau.” 

“ ‘ Observe  that  thy  best  director,  thy  perfect  guide  is 
Nature.  Copy  from  her. — In  her  paths  is  thy  triumphal 
arch.  She  is  above  all  other  teachers;  and  ever  confide  in 
her  with  a bold  heart  '—especially  when  thou  beginnest  to  feel 
that  there  is  a sentiment  in  drawing. — Day  after  day  never 
fail  to  draw  something,  which  however  little  it  may  be,  will 
yet  in  the  end  be  much;  and  do  thy  best.’ 

“ Extracted  from  Cennino  Cennini’s  book  on  painting 
written  four  hundred  years  ago,  now  first  printed  in  1821, 
from  the  manuscript  in  the  Vatican.  He  was  a pupil  of 
Angiolo  Gaddi,  whose  father  painted  under  Giotto  twenty- 
four  years.” 

“ None  of  the  greatest  painters  were  eccentric  in  their 
works.  They  were  too  consistent  with  themselves  to  merit 
such  an  epithet;  too  sensible  of  what  they  were  about.” 

“ The  rage  of  what  may  be  called  protege-ism  among  the 
rich  and  great,  arising  from  the  expectation  either  of  being 
the  first  to  discover  genius  in  obscurity,  or  of  turning  some 
young  man  of  ordinary  talent  into  a genius,  though  it  may 
now  and  then  be  of  use,  is  far  more  often  prejudicial  to  the 
real  interests  of  art,  and  even  to  the  individual  so  patronised. 
Very  worthy  men,  possessed  with  this  vanity,  become  com- 
pletely blinded  to  the  injustice  they  commit  to  all  who  have 
fairly  won  the  field,  and  whom  they  would  not  hesitate  to 
drive  from  it,  to  make  room  for  some  favourite  of  their  own, 

1 Northcote’s  objection  did  not  apply  to  the  supernatural  in  painting, 
but  to  the  unnatural.  The  picture  before  which  they  stood  professed 
to  be  a real  scene,  but  treated  in  what  the  artist  conceived  to  be  a 
poetic  manner. 


Selections  from  Constable's  Papers  243 

who  is,  by  their  instruction  as  well  as  patronage,  to  be  placed 
on  the  pinnacle  of  fame. — Thus,  Rasselas,  in  recalling  the 
visions  he  had  indulged  in  of  a perfect  government  when  he 
should  come  to  the  throne,  acknowledges  that  he  afterwards 
was  startled  to  think  with  how  little  regret  he  had  contem- 
plated the  death  of  his  father  and  elder  brothers.” 

“ There  should  be  a moral  feeling  in  the  art,  as  well  as 
in  everything  else,  and  it  is  not  right  in  a young  man  to 
assume  great  dash,  or  great  completion,  without  study  or 
pains.” 

“ There  has  never  been  a boy  painter,  nor  can  there  be. 
The  art  requires  a long  apprenticeship,  being  mechanical,  as 
well  as  intellectual.” 

“ It  was  at  Rome  Claude  became  the  real  student  of 
Nature.  He  came  there  a confirmed  mannered  paintet. 
But  he  soon  found  it  necessary  to  ‘ become  as  a little  child,’ 
and  he  devoted  himself  to  study  with  an  ardour  and  a patience 
of  labour  perhaps  never  before  equalled.  He  lived  in  the 
fields  all  day,  and  drew  at  the  Academy  at  night,  for  after 
all  Art  is  a plant  of  the  conservatory,  not  of  the  desert.” 

“ £ D.  O.  M.1 

CLAUDIO  . GELLEE  . LOTHARINGO  . 

EX  . LOCO  . DE  . CHAMPAGNE  . ORTO  . 

PICTORI  . EXIMIO  . 

QUI  . IPSOS  . ORIENTIS  . ET  . OCCIDENTIS  . 

SOLIS  . RADIOS  . IN  . CAMPESTRIBUS  . 

MIRIFICE  . PINGENDIS  . EFFINXIT  . 

HIC  . IN  . URBE  . UBI  ■ ARTEM  . COLUIT, 
SUMMAM  . LAUDEM  . INTER  . MAGNATES  . 

CONSECUTUS  . EST  . 

OBIIT  . IX  . KALEND  . DECEMBRIS  . MDCLXXXII. 

AETATIS  . SUAE  . ANNO  . LXXXII. 

JOANN  . ET  . JOSEPHUS  . GELLEE  . 

PATRUO  . CHARISSIMO  . MONUM  . HOC  . 

SIBI  . POSTERISQUE  . SUIS  . 

PONI  . CURARUNT.’ 

1 Diis  omnibus  manibus.  “ To  all  the  infernal  Gods.”  So  the 
ancient  Romans  inscribed  their  monuments.  This  inscription  was 
turned  by  the  Christians  into  Deo  optimo  maximo,  “ To  the  good  and 
great  God,”  thus  preserving  the  same  initial  letters. 


244  Life  of  Constable 

“ ‘ To  Claude  Gellee  Lorraine,  a most  eminent  painter, 
born  in  the  province  of  Champagne,  who,  in  painting  land- 
scape, represented  to  admiration  the  very  rays  of  the  rising 
and  setting  sun.  In  this  city,  where  he  practised  his  art,  he 
obtained  the  highest  celebrity  among  the  great.  He  died 
the  9th  of  the  Kalends  of  December  1682  ( i.e . 23rd  of 
November),  aged  82. 

“ 1 John  and  Joseph  Gellee  caused  this  monument  to  be 
erected  to  their  beloved  uncle,  for  themselves  and  their 
posterity.’ 

“ The  above  inscription  was  on  the  monument  of  Claude 
Lorraine  (now  destroyed)  in  the  church  of  the  Trinita  al 
Monte  at  Rome.  Sir  George  Beaumont,  who  had  seen  it, 
and  again  sought  for  it  when  there  about  1820,  informed 
me  that  it  was  mural,  and  moderately  ornamented,  having  a 
palette  and  pencils  carved  on  it.  Had  he  been  successful  in 
finding  the  fragments,  it  was  his  intention  to  have  brought 
them  to  his  seat  at  Cole-Orton,  and  put  them  up  in  the 
church  or  on  his  grounds.” 1 

Constable  seldom  failed  to  penetrate  the  real  characters  of 
men  through  the  disguises  of  manner.  In  an  unpublished 
letter  he  says,  of  one  of  a class  of  persons  not  very  uncommon, 
“ More  overbearing  meekness  I never  met  with  in  any  one 
man.” 

To  these  few  gleanings  from  Constable’s  papers  I will 
add  some  recollections  of  his  sayings.  His  manner  of  talk- 
ing was  perpetually  digressive,  yet  he  never  lost  sight  of  the 
subject  with  which  he  set  out,  but  would  always  return  to 
it,  though  often  through  a long  and  circuitous  path.  This 
rambling  habit  made  his  talk,  which  was  amusing  enough  in 
itself,  sometimes  still  more  so,  but  it  unfitted  him  in  a great 
degree  for  an  extemporaneous  lecturer.  His  conversation 
might  be  compared  to  a dissected  map  or  picture,  of  which 
the  parts,  as  seen  separately,  appear  to  have  no  connection, 

1 My  friend,  Mr.  T.  Uwins,  has  obliged  me  with  the  following  account 
of  the  destruction  of  Claude’s  monument:  “ When  the  French  republi- 
can troops  devastated  Italy  in  1798,  their  great  delight  was  to  turn 
out  the  monks  and  nuns  from  the  convents  and  other  religious  houses, 
which  houses  they  converted  into  barracks.  This  happened  to  the 
Church  and  Convent  of  the  Frati  Minori  on  the  Trinita  al  Monte  at 
Rome,  and  it  was  during  this  barbarous  occupation  that  Claude’s 
monument  was  obliterated.” 


Forgeries  245 

yet  each  is  capable  of  being  so  placed  as  to  form  a complete 
whole. 

In  reply  to  an  application  to  my  friend  Collins  for  his 
assistance  in  this  part  of  my  undertaking,  I received  the 
following  note : 

“ Dear  Leslie,  I have  been  cudgelling  my  brains  on  the 
subject  of  the  Constable  anecdotes,  and  the  result  is,  the 
recollection  of  a great  number  of  good  things,  calculated, 
alas,  only  for  table-talk  among  friends.  This,  as  I told  you, 
I feared  would  be  the  case.  The  great  charm  of  our  lamented 
friend’s  conversation  upon  art  was  not  only  its  originality, 
but  its  real  worth,  and  the  evidence  it  afforded  of  his  heartfelt 
love  of  his  pursuit,  independent  of  any  worldly  advantages  to 
be  obtained  by  it.  . . . I mentioned  to  you  his  admirable 
remark  upon  the  composition  of  a picture,  namely,  that  its 
parts  were  all  so  necessary  to  it  as  a whole,  that  it  resembled 
a sum  in  arithmetic;  take  away  or  add  the  smallest  item,  and 
it  must  be  wrong.  His  observations,  too,  on  chiaroscuro 
were  all  that  could  be  made  on  that  deep  subject.  How 
rejoiced  am  I to  find  that  so  many  of  the  great  things  he 
did  will  at  last  be  got  together  for  the  benefit  of  future 
students.” 

The  comparison  mentioned  by  Mr.  Collins  of  a picture  to 
a sum  in  arithmetic  was  intended  by  Constable  to  expose 
the  unpardonable  liberties  sometimes  taken  by  the  possessors 
of  the  works  of  deceased  artists,  in  cutting,  enlarging,  or 
otherwise  altering  them.  “ Would  you  take  from  or  add,” 
he  would  say,  “to  a physician’s  prescription?  . . .”  An- 
other proceeding,  perhaps  not  more  justifiable,  may  be  here 
adverted  to, — the  employment  of  artists  to  finish  pictures 
left  incomplete  by  their  predecessors.  The  best  painters 
know  that  a work  of  any  value  can  only  be  carried  through 
by  the  head  and  hand  of  him  who  planned  it,  and  conse- 
quently, those  only  undertake  to  complete  unfinished  pictures 
who  are  the  least  capable  of  divining  the  intentions  of  their 
authors.1  Some  of  Constable’s  sketches  have  thus  been 
finished  into  worthlessness,  and  what  is  a still  greater  injury 
to  his  reputation,  entire  forgeries  have  been  made  of  his 
works.  Multitudes  of  these  I have  seen,  and  with  astonish- 
ment that  their  wretchedness  should  impose  upon  purchasers. 

1 1 have  known  some  deplorable  instances  of  the  finishing  of  Wilkie’s 
incompleted  pictures,  and  many  more  of  works,  so  left,  by  Lawrence. 


Life  of  Constable 


246 

But  they  are  put  forth,  in  safe  reliance  on  the  little  real 
knowledge  of  his  style  that,  at  present,  exists  among  our 
connoisseurs. 

To  return  from  this  digression  to  the  more  agreeable 
subject  of  Constable’s  conversation,  I remember  to  have 
heard  him  say,  “ When  I sit  down  to  make  a sketch  from 
nature,  the  first  thing  I try  to  do  is,  to  forget  that  I have  ever 
seen  a picture.”1  He  well  knew  that,  in  spite  of  this  en- 
deavour, his  knowledge  of  pictures  had  its  influence  on  every 
touch  of  his  pencil,  for  in  speaking  of  a young  artist  who 
boasted  that  he  had  never  studied  the  works  of  others,  he 
said,  “ After  all,  there  is  such  a thing  as  the  art.” 

On  hearing  somebody  say  of  the  celebrated  collection  of 
Raphael’s  drawings  that  belonged  to  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence, 
“ They  inspire,”  he  replied,  “ They  do  more,  they  inform.” 

The  amiable  but  eccentric  Blake,  looking  through  one  of 
Constable’s  sketch  books,  said  of  a beautiful  drawing  of  an 
avenue  of  fir  trees  on  Hampstead  Heath,  “ Why,  this  is  not 
drawing,  but  inspiration  ; ” and  he  replied,  “ I never  knew 
it  before;  I meant  it  for  drawing.” 

“ My  pictures  will  never  be  popular,”  he  said,  “ for  they 
have  no  handling.  But  I do  not  see  handling  in  nature.” 

He  said  also,  “ Whatever  may  be -thought  of  my  art,  it  is 
my  own;  and  I would  rather  possess  a freehold,  though  but 
a cottage,  than  live  in  a palace  belonging  to  another.” 

To  a lady  who,  looking  at  an  engraving  of  a house,  called 
it  an  ugly  thing,  he  said,  “ No,  madam,  there  is  nothing  ugly; 
1 never  saw  an  ugly  thing  in  my  life  : for  let  the  form  of  an 
object  be  what  it  may, — light,  shade,  and  perspective  will 
always  make  it  beautiful.  It  is  perspective  which  improves 
the  form  of  this.” 

Speaking  of  the  taste  for  the  prodigious  and  the  astounding , 
a taste  very  contrary  to  his  own,  he  made  use  of  a quotation 

1 A curious  proof  of  the  stillness  with  which  he  had  sat  one  day 
while  painting  in  the  open  air,  was  the  discovery  of  a field  mouse  in 
his  coat  pocket. 


Sayings  247 

from  the  1st  Book  of  Kings.  “ A great  and  strong  wind 
rent  the  mountains,  and  brake  in  pieces  the  rocks  before  the 
Lord;  but  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  wind:  and  after  the 
wind  an  earthquake;  but  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  earth- 
quake: and  after  the  earthquake  a fire;  but  the  Lord  was 
not  in  the  fire:  and  after  the  fire  a still  small  voice.” 

There  were  many  occasions  on  which  Constable  quoted 
the  aphorism  of  Dr.  Johnson:  “That  which  is  greatest  is 
not  always  best.” 

His  fondness  for  children  has  been  mentioned.  I have 
often  heard  him  say,  but  as  a quotation  (I  think  from  Plato), 
“ Children  should  be  respected” 

He  was  asked  how  soon  a relish  for  the  works  of  Dome- 
nichino  might  be  acquired,  and  replied,  “ In  about  the  same 
time  in  which  you  may  acquire  a relish  for  the  works  of 
Homer.” 

An  artist  who  undervalued  every  class  of  art  but  the  heroic, 
said  in  his  presence,  “ that  he  could  not  conceive  to  what 
Jan  Steen  owed  his  great  reputation,  unless  to  the  high 
encomiums  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  passed  on  his  style;  ” 
“ And  could  he,”  replied  Constable,  “ owe  it  to  a better 
authority?  ” 

He  was  struck  with  a remark  of  Dr.  Gooch,  that  he  found 
“ every  individual  case  of  disease  a new  study.”  Constable 
applied  this  to  painting,  and  said,  “ In  like  manner  every 
truly  original  picture  is  a separate  study,  and  governed  by 
laws  of  its  own;  so  that  what  is  right  in  one,  would  be  often 
entirely  wrong  if  transferred  to  another.” 

A friend  of  Constable  expressing  to  him  his  dissatisfaction 
at  his  own  progress  in  art,  received  (as  he  told  me)  the 
greatest  encouragement  to  proceed  he  ever  met  with,  in  the 
following  answer:  “ If  you  had  found  painting  as  easy  as 
you  once  thought  it,  you  would  have  given  it  up  long  ago.” 

He  could  not  easily  resist  theTtemptation  of  making  an 
unexpected  reply,  and  when  Archdeacon  Fisher,  one  Sunday, 


248  Life  of  Constable 

after  preaching,  asked  him  how  he  liked  his  sermon,  he 
said,  “ Very  much,  indeed,  Fisher;  I always  did  like  that 
sermon.”  But  Fisher  had  too  much  wit  himself  not  to 
relish  this;  and  if  he  kept  any  account  of  such  hits  with 
his  friend,  it  was  no  doubt  a fairly  balanced  one. 

If  Constable  had  occasion  to  find  fault  with  a servant  or  a 
tradesman,  it  was  seldom  unaccompanied  with  a pleasantry, 
though  often  a sharp  one.  To  the  person  who  served  his 
family  with  milk,  he  said,  “ In  future  we  shall  feel  obliged 
if  you  will  send  us  the  milk  and  the  water  in  separate  cans.” 

A picture  of  a murder  sent  to  the  Academy  for  exhibition 
while  he  was  on  the  Council  was  refused  admittance  on 
account  of  a disgusting  display  of  blood  and  brains  in  it; 
but  he  objected  still  more  to  the  wretchedness  of  the  work, 
and  said,  “ I see  no  brains  in  the  picture.”  1 

I regret  that  among  his  papers  I have  not  met  with  the 
observations  on  skies  and  clouds,  which  he  mentions  in  a 
letter  to  Mr.  George  Constable.  I recollect  hearing,  at 
different  times,  remarks  by  him  on  atmospheric  effects,  but 
I can  scarcely  recall  anything  he  said  with  sufficient  distinct- 
ness to  repeat  it.  I remember  that  he  pointed  out  to  me 
an  appearance  of  the  sun’s  rays,  which  few  artists  have 
perhaps  noticed,  and  which  I never  saw  given  in  any  picture, 
excepting  in  his  “ Waterloo  Bridge.”  When  the  spectator 
stands  with  his  back  to  the  sun,  the  rays  may  be  sometimes 
seen  converging  in  perspective  towards  the  opposite  horizon. 
Since  he  drew  my  attention  to  such  effects,  I have  noticed 
very  early  in  the  morning  the  lines  of  the  rays  diminishing 
in  perspective  through  a rainbow. 

I have  seen  him  admire  a fine  tree  with  an  ecstasy  of 
delight  like  that  with  which  he  would  catch  up  a beautiful 
child  in  his  arms.  The  ash  was  his  favourite,  and  all  who 
are  acquainted  with  his  pictures  cannot  fail  to  have  observed 
how  frequently  it  is  introduced  as  a near  object,  and  how 
beautifully  its  distinguishing  peculiarities  are  marked.  I 
remember  his  pointing  out  to  me  in  an  avenue  of  Spanish 

1 This  recalls  to  my  recollection  a saying,  still  better,  which  is 
related  of  Opie,  who,  when  a young  artist  asked  him  what  he  mixed 
his  colours  with,  replied,  “ Brains." 


The  Conventional  in  Art 


249 

chesnuts,  the  great  elegance  given  to  their  trunks  by  the 
spiral  direction  of  the  lines  of  the  bark. 

He  would  never  admit  of  a distinction  which  is  sometimes 
made  between  poetry  and  truth.  He  felt  that  the  super- 
natural need  not  be  the  unnatural.1  Neither  did  he  admit 
that  the  conventional  in  art,  though  it  may  be  found  in  the 
works  of  the  greatest  masters,  was  to  be  considered  in  any 
other  light  than  as  an  evidence  of  human  imperfection.  He 
looked  upon  the  imitation  by  modern  painters  of  that  which 
is  conventional  in  the  works  of  their  predecessors,  as  one 
great  cause  of  the  deterioration  of  art.  “ Raphael  and 
Michael  Angelo,”  he  said,  “ would  be  greatly  astonished 
could  they  rise  from  their  graves,  at  the  theories  on  which 
it  has  been  supposed  their  works  were  formed;  as,  for 
instance,  that  the  charms  of  colour,  or  chiaroscuro,  would 
detract  from  the  intellectual  dignity  of  their  inventions.”  2 
He  has  often  pointed  out  to  me,  even  in  the  imperfect  en- 
gravings we  have  from  the  Sistine  Chapel,  the  admirable 
conduct  of  the  light  and  shade;  and  he  told  me  that 
Stothard,  looking  at  these  things  with  him,  said,  “ Michael 
Angelo  always  composed  for  chiaroscuro.”  Constable  con- 
sidered that  the  union  of  various  excellence  proposed  by 
the  Carracci  might  not  be  impossible,  but  that  their  failure, 
where  they  did  fail,  was  mainly  owing  to  their  attention 
being  too  much  confined  to  the  works  of  their  predecessors. 
He  preferred  the  advice  given  by  Wilkie  when  consulted  by 
young  artists,  “ paint  it  well”  to  the  elaborate  recommenda- 
tions contained  in  the  sonnet  of  Agostino  Carracci.3  He 
considered  the  analogy  to  hold  good  in  all  respects  between 
religion  and  taste.  He  told  me  that  one  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds’  discourses  had  been  turned  into  a sermon,  and 
was  found  not  to  require  any  alteration  in  the  general  scope 
of  the  arguments. 

When  the  opinions  scattered  through  Constable’s  letters 

1 Why  do  “ the  Gods  of  Homer  continue  to  this  day  the  gods  of 
poetry,”  but  because  they  are  endued  with  human  passions?  And 
for  the  same  reason  do  the  weird  sisters,  the  Oberon,  Titania,  Puck, 
Ariel,  and  Caliban  interest  us. 

2 Such  a theory,  it  appears  to  me,  may  be  overturned  at  once  by 
two  remarks  of  Fuseli:  “The  Jeremiah  among  the  Prophets  glows 
with  the  glow  of  Titian,  but  in  a breadth  unknown  to  Giorgione  and 
him.”  And  “ The  Eve  under  the  Tree  has  the  bland  pearly  harmony 
of  Correggio.” 

3 See  Fuseli’s  Second  Lecture. 


Life  of  Constable 


250 

are  compared  with  those  expressed  in  his  lectures,  it  will 
not  be  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  his  love  of  nature  did 
not  blind  him  to  the  real  value  of  art.  I never  remember  to 
have  stood  with  him  before  a fine  picture,  either  ancient  or 
modern,  without  his  directing  my  attention  to  some  excel- 
lence in  it  which  I had  not  before  noticed;  and  if  his  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  nature  made  him  more  than  usually 
fastidious  in  his  admiration  of  pictures,  it  gave  him  a relish 
for  the  best,  of  which  no  mere  connoisseur  can  form  the 
least  conception.  But  the  light  in  which  Constable  con- 
sidered works  of  art  was  exactly  that  in  which  Lord  Bacon 
places  the  sciences,  when  he  says,  “ It  is  a fatal  mistake  to 
suppose  that  they  have  gradually  arrived  at  a state  of  per- 
fection, and  then  been  recorded  by  some  one  writer  or  other; 
and  that  as  nothing  better  can  afterwards  be  invented,  men 
need  but  cultivate  and  set  off  what  is  thus  discovered  and 
completed : whereas  in  reality,  this  registering  of  the  sciences 
proceeds  only  from  the  assurance  of  a few,  and  the  sloth  and 
ignorance  of  many.” — And  again,  “ As  water  ascends  no 
higher  than  the  level  of  the  first  spring,  so  knowledge  derived 
from  Aristotle  will  at  most  rise  no  higher  again  than  the 
knowledge  of  Aristotle.  And  therefore,  though  a scholar 
must  have  faith  in  his  master,  yet  a man  well  instructed  must 
judge  for  himself;  for  learners  owe  to  their  masters  only  a 
temporary  belief,  and  a suspension  of  their  own  judgment  till 
they  are  fully  instructed,  and  not  an  absolute  resignation,  or 
perpetual  captivity.  Let  great  authors,  therefore,  have  their 
due;  but  so  as  not  to  defraud  time,  which  is  the  author  of 
authors,  and  the  parent  of  truth.” 

Need  I mention  how  very  little  Constable  cared  for  the 
usual  classifications  of  art?  he  judged  as  all  who  have  taste, 
and  who  give  their  taste  fair  play,  judge  of  pictures,  by  their 
intrinsic  merit  alone.  Good  art  was  with  him  high  art,  how- 
ever humble  the  subject;  and  mediocre  art,  let  the  attempt 
be  ever  so  sublime,  was  in  his  estimation  low  art.1 

1 All  men  of  genius  have  something  in  common,  however  dissimilar 
their  productions,  but  genius  and  mediocrity  have  nothing  in  common ; 
Raphael  and  Ostade  may  be  classed  together,  but  never  Raphael  and 
Carlo  Maratti.  Since  this  note  was  first  printed,  I have  met  with  the 
following  passage  in  Cunningham’s  Life  of  Wilkie.  Speaking  of 
Raphael  and  M.  Angelo,  Wilkie  says,  “ They  have  that  without  which 
the  Venus  and  Apollo  would  lose  their  value,  and  with  which  the 
forms  of  Ostade  and  Rembrandt  become  instructive  and  sublime; 
namely  expression  and  sentiment.” 


His  Native  Scenery  251 

In  the  summer  of  1840,  I accompanied  Mr.  Purton  on  an 
excursion  to  Suffolk.  We  were  received  at  Flatford  with 
the  greatest  hospitality  by  Mr.  Abram  Constable  and  his 
sisters,  and  were  accommodated  with  facilities  for  exploring 
what  to  us  was  classic  ground,  in  which  we  had  the  advantage 
of  being  accompanied  by  Constable’s  eldest  son,  and  his 
nephew,  the  Rev.  Daniel  Whalley. 

We  visited  the  house  in  which  Constable  was  born. — It 
was  a large  and  handsome  mansion,  at  that  time  untenanted, 
and  has  since  been  pulled  down.  A view  of  the  back  of  it 
forms  the  frontispiece  to  the  English  Landscape,  with  these 
lines  inscribed  under  it, 

“ Hie  locus  aetatis  nostrae  primordia  novit 
Annos  felices  laetitiseque  dies: 

Hie  locus  ingenuis  pueriles  imbuit  annos 
Artibus  et  nostrae  laudis  origo  fuit.” 

Of  which,  in  one  of  his  sketch  books,  is  the  following  trans- 
lation by  Mr.  Fisher. 

“ This  spot  saw  the  day-spring  of  my  life, 

Hours  of  Joy  and  years  of  Happiness; 

This  place  first  tinged  my  boyish  fancy  with  a love  of  the  Art, 
This  place  was  the  origin  of  my  Fame.’* 

We  found  that  the  scenery  of  eight  or  ten  of  our  late 
friend’s  most  important  subjects  might  be  enclosed  by  a 
circle  of  a few  hundred  yards  at  Flatford,  very  near  Berg- 
holt;  within  this  space  are  the  lock,  which  forms  the  subject 
of  several  pictures — Willy  Lott’s  House — the  little  raised 
wooden  bridge  and  the  picturesque  cottage  near  it,  seen  in 
the  picture  engraved  for  Messrs.  Finden’s  work,  and  intro- 
duced into  others — and  the  meadow  in  which  the  picture  of 
“ Boat-building  ” was  entirely  painted.  So  startling  was 
the  resemblance  of  some  of  these  scenes  to  the  pictures  of 
them,  which  we  knew  so  well,  that  we  could  hardly  believe 
we  were  for  the  first  time  standing  on  the  ground  from  which 
they  were  painted.  Of  others,  we  found  that  Constable  had 
rather  combined  and  varied  the  materials,  than  given  exact 
views.  In  the  larger  compositions,  such  as  “ The  White 
Horse  ” and  “ The  Hay  Wain,”  both  from  this  neighbour- 
hood, he  has  increased  the  width  of  the  river  to  great  advan- 
tage; and  wherever  there  was  an  opportunity,  he  was  fond 


Life  of  Constable 


252 

of  introducing  the  tower  of  Dedham  Church,  which  is  seen 
from  many  points  near  Flatford.  At  Stratford  we  missed 
the  picturesque  little  water-mill,  with  which  the  picture 
given  by  Fisher  to  Mr.  Tinney  had  made  us  acquainted,  in 
place  of  which  now  stands  a large  brick  building.  We 
visited  Stoke;  and  at  Neyland,  which  adjoins  it,  we  saw  the 
altar-piece  of  the  Saviour  blessing  the  elements;  we  saw, 
likewise,  the  altar-piece  at  Brantham;  and  visited  Langham, 
where  all  is  so  much  changed  excepting  the  church,  that  we 
could  scarcely  recognise  it  as  the  scene  of  the  “ Glebe  Farm.” 
The  appearance  of  Dedham  mill  is  greatly  improved  in  every 
picture  Constable  painted  of  it,  by  his  showing  the  water- 
wheel, which  in  reality  is  hidden. 

In  the  education  of  an  artist,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  fore- 
see what  circumstances  will  prove  advantageous,  or  the 
reverse;  it  is  on  looking  back  only  that  we  can  judge  of 
'these  things.  Travelling  is  now  the  order  of  the  day,  and 
it  may  sometimes  prove  beneficial, — but  to  Constable’s  art 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  confinement  of  his  studies 
within  the  narrowest  bounds  in  which,  perhaps,  the  studies 
of  an  artist  ever  were  confined,  was  in  the  highest  degree 
favourable;  for  a knowledge  of  atmospheric  effects  will  be 
best  attained  by  a constant  study  of  the  same  objects  under 
every  change  of  the  seasons,  and  of  the  times  of  day.  His 
ambition,  it  will  be  borne  in  mind,  was  not  to  paint  many 
things  imperfectly,  but  to  paint  a few  things  well. 

The  impression  made  on  the  minds  of  Mr.  Purton  and 
myself  by  these  beautiful  scenes  was,  that  Constable  being 
born  among  them,  and  being  born  a painter,  was  almost  of 
necessity  born  a landscape  painter.  As  we  were  leaving 
them,  my  companion  made  some  remarks  which  seemed  to 
me  so  just  and  so  happily  expressed,  that  I begged  he  would 
give  them  to  me  on  paper,  and  his  kind  compliance  with 
my  request  enables  me  to  add  them  to  this  brief  account  of 
our  excursion. 

“ In  looking,”  says  Mr.  Purton,  “ at  such  faithful  tran- 
scripts of  nature  as  are  exhibited  in  the  landscapes  of  Con- 
stable, it  would  be  difficult  to  point  out  any  one  quality  or 
excellence  which  pre-eminently  distinguishes  them ; and  per- 
haps it  will  be  found  that  this  oneness  or  individuality 
constitutes  their  principal  charm:  one  pervading  animus, 
one  singleness  of  intention  runs  through  the  whole ; and  this. 


Mr.  Purton’s  Remarks  253 

it  may  be  observed,  has  been  pronounced  on  the  best  autho- 
rity, the  sine  qua  non  in  poetical  composition: 

‘ Denique  sit  quidvis  simplex  duntaxat  et  unum.’ 1 

Whether  he  portray  the  solemn  burst  of  the  approaching 
tempest — the  breezy  freshness  of  morning — or  the  deep  still- 
ness of  a summer  noon — every  object  represented,  from  the 
grandest  masses  to  the  smallest  plant  or  spray,  seem  instinct 
with,  as  it  were,  and  breathing  the  very  spirit  of  the  scene. 
His  figures,  too,  seem  naturally  called  forth  by,  and  form 
part  of,  the  landscape:  we  never  ask  whether  they  are  well 
placed,  there  they  are,  and  unless  they  choose  to  move  on, 
there  they  must  remain.  His  quiet  lanes  and  covert  nooks 
never  serve  to  introduce  a romantic  or  sentimental  episode 
to  divide,  not  heighten  the  interest;  all  is  made  subservient 
to  the  one  object  in  view,  the  embodying  a pure  apprehen- 
sion of  natural  effect.  Hence  it  is  that  the  true  lover  of 
nature  admires  not  at  sight  the  beauty  of  the  lines,  or  the 
truth  of  colouring  displayed  in  his  works;  his  first  impulse 
is,  as  with  Fuseli,  to  call  for  his  umbrella,  or  with  Bannister, 
he  feels  the  breeze  blowing  on  his  face.2  I do  not  presume 
to  point  out  what  high  qualities  of  art  he  must  have  attained, 
or  what  difficulties  overcome,  before  he  could  have  effected 
so  deep  a feeling  of  the  natural;  but  I imagine  that  the 
highest  attainments  of  art,  even  all  his  patient  study  had 
been  vain,  had  they  not  been  engrafted  on  the  purest  and 
warmest  admiration  and  affection  for  the  scenes  and  effects 
which  he  represented.” 

An  extremely  interesting  portion  of  Constable’s  works  is 
known  only  to  his  intimate  friends, — I mean  the  contents  of 
his  numerous  sketch  books.  In  these  are  many  complete 
landscapes  in  miniature,  often  coloured,  and  when  not  tinted 
the  chiaroscuro  is  generally  given  in  lead  pencil,  sometimes 
with  great  depth  of  effect,  and  always  with  exquisite  taste. — 
The  name  of  nearly  every  spot  sketched  is  added,  and  in 

1 “ In  a word,  it  may  be  what  you  will,  only  let  it  be  simple  (or 
rather  single)  and  one.” — Horace  on  the  Art  of  Poetry. 

2 The  reader  will  remember  Mrs.  Fisher’s  remark  on  the  arrival  of 
the  “ White  Horse  ” at  Salisbury,  that  she  carried  her  eye  from  the 
picture  to  the  garden,  and  observed  “ the  same  sort  of  look  in  both;  ” 
and  Lady  Morley’s  exclamation  on  seeing  the  view  of  “ Englefield 
House,”  “ How  fresh,  how  dewy,  how  exhilarating!  ” It  was  for  those 
who  feel  and  judge  in  this  way  Constable  painted;  but  connoisseurs, 
and  even  artists,  are  not  always  such  judges. 


254  Life  of  Constable 

looking  through  these  books  one  thing  is  striking,  which  may 
be  equally  noticed  of  his  pictures,  that  the  subjects  of  his 
works  form  a history  of  his  affections. — Bergholt  and  its 
neighbourhood — Salisbury — Osmington — Hampstead — Gil- 
lingham— Brighton — Folkstone  (where  his  boys  were  at 
school) — and  scenes  in  Berkshire  visited  by  him  with  Mr. 
Fisher.  With  the  exception  of  his  excursion  in  Derbyshire, 
and  afterwards  to  the  English  Lakes,  he  never  travelled 
expressly  for  subjects.  Chiaroscuro,  as  I have  said,  was  an 
all-important  thing  in  his  estimation.  Many  artists  see  it 
nowhere,  but  Constable  saw  it  everywhere,  and  in  all  its 
beauty.  Why  then  should  he  go  in  quest  of  subjects,  when 
the  spots  endeared  to  him  from  his  infancy,  or  from  the 
associations  of  friendship,  had  not  only  in  general  great 
attractions  of  their  own,  but  where  they  had  least  of  beauty 
could  be  elevated  by  this  power  to  sublimity? 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


Notes  of  Six  Lectures,  delivered  by  Constable,  on  Landscape  Painting. 

The  lectures  Constable  delivered  at  the  Hampstead  Assembly 
Rooms, — at  the  Royal  Institution  in  Albemarle  Street, — 
and  at  Worcester,  were  never  written.  He  prepared  some 
brief  notes  only,  but  he  depended  more  on  a collection  of 
copies  and  engravings  from  the  pictures  to  which  he  had 
occasion  to  allude,  with  large  placards  containing  the  names 
of  the  principal  painters  who  had  contributed  to  the  advance- 
ment of  landscape  painting,  chronologically  arranged.  These 
sufficiently  served  to  refresh  a memory  well  stored  with  infor- 
mation on  the  subject  of  his  lectures. — Many  of  his  friends 
urged  him  after  the  delivery  of  the  first  discourse  to  write 
it,  and  he  probably  intended  to  amplify  the  following  abstract 
which  was  found  among  his  papers,  and  which,  he  says,  “ is 
little  more  than  a recollection  of  a discourse  delivered  at  the 
Hampstead  Assembly  Rooms  in  June  1833.” 

“ In  offering  a few  observations  on  the  history  of  land- 
scape painting  to  the  members  of  the  Literary  and  Scientific 
Society  of  Hampstead,  it  will  be  necessary,  before  I proceed, 
to  exonerate  the  gentlemen  forming  its  committee  from 
blame  for  the  appointment  to  this  talk  of  one  so  inefficient, 
at  least  as  a speaker;  and  perhaps  I cannot  better  excuse 
their  choice,  nor  illustrate  the  position  in  which  both  the 
committee  and  myself  are  placed,  than  by  the  following 
words  of  Lord  Bacon. 

“ ‘ He  who  questioneth  much  will  learn  much;  and  will 
content  much;  but  especially  if  he  apply  his  questions  to 
the  skill  of  those  whom  he  asketh;  for  he  shall  give  them 
occasion  to  please  themselves  in  speaking.’ — And  again: 
‘ There  is  small  doubt  but  that  men  can  write  best  and  most 
really  and  sincerely  on  their  own  professions;  only  there  is 
one  vice  which  accompanies  them  that  write  on  their  own  pro- 
fessions, that  they  magnify  them  in  excess;  but  generally  it 
were  to  be  wished  as  that  which  would  make  learning  indeed 

255 


256  Life  of  Constable 

solid  and  fruitful,  that  active  men  would  or  could  become 
writers.” 

“ In  tracing  the  history  of  landscape,  although  my  limits 
necessarily  permit  me  to  give  but  an  outline,  I shall  endea- 
vour to  render  it  clear,  useful,  and  interesting,  by  pointing 
out  the  epochs  which  mark  the  development,  progress,  and 
perfection  of  this  department  of  art, — a department  than 
which  there  is  none  more  efficient,  impressive,  or  delightful, 
— none  that  has  more  completely  succeeded  in  the  attain- 
ment of  its  object. — My  endeavour  shall  be  to  separate  it 
from  the  mass  of  historical  art  in  which  it  originated,  and 
with  which  it  was  long  connected.  Considering,  as  I do, 
that  landscape  has  hitherto  escaped  a distinction  to  which 
it  is  entitled,  I propose  to  trace  it  to  its  source,  to  follow  its 
progress  to  its  final  success,  to  show  how  by  degrees  it 
assumed  form  until  at  last  it  became  a distinct  and  separate 
class  of  painting,  standing  alone,  when,  from  being  the 
humble  assistant,  it  became  the  powerful  auxiliary  to  that 
art  which  gave  it  birth,  greatly  enriching  the  dignity  of 
history. 

“If  we  are  to  form  any  opinion  of  the  state  of  landscape 
painting  among  the  ancients  from  the  specimens  displayed 
on  the  walls  of  Herculaneum,  the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  and 
in  other  places  of  more  recent  discovery,  it  would  appear 
that,  although  they  practised  it  with  much  grace  and  ele- 
gance, they  merely  seemed  to  consider  it  as  forming  a part 
of  their  arabesques.  Trees,  like  candelabra,  formally  spread 
on  a plain  blue  sky,  for  instance; — but  we  have  no  specimen 
in  their  landscape  in  which  we  can  trace  any  attempt  at 
chiaroscuro,  without  which  it  can  never  be  rendered  im- 
pressive. Yet  if  we  are  to  believe  Pliny  and  other  ancient 
writers,  chiaroscuro  as  well  as  colour  was  thoroughly  under- 
stood and  practised  by  the  great  historical  painters. 

“All  was,  however,  lost  in  the  general  wreck  of  Europe; 
and  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  in  the  early  time  of  the 
middle  ages  anything  of  so  refined  a character  should  re- 
appear. The  Bayeux  tapestry,  which  is  indeed  little  better 
than  a Mexican  performance,  scarcely  hints  at  it.  The 
illuminated  manuscripts  and  missals,  when  they  represent 
the  agony  of  Christ,  indicate  the  garden  only  by  a flower, 
or  a flower  pot,  the  rest  of  the  field  of  the  picture  being 
dark.  But  when  historical  painting  was  attempted  on  a 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  257 

larger  scale,  and  the  Passion,  the  Crucifixion,  and  the  En- 
tombment of  our  Saviour  afforded  its  most  important  sub- 
jects, landscape,  and  even  some  of  its  phenomena,  became 
indispensable.  The  cross  must  be  fixed  in  the  ground, — 
there  must  be  a sky, — the  shades  of  night  must  envelop  the 
garden  (the  scene  of  the  agony), — and  a more  awful  darkness 
the  Crucifixion; — while  rocks  and  trees  naturally  made  a 
part  of  the  accompaniments  of  the  sepulchre.  Here,  then, 
however  rude  and  imperfect,  we  are  to  look  for  the  origin  of 
landscape.  It  was  first  used  as  an  assistant  in  conveying 
sentiment,  and  being  found  completely  successful,  was 
cultivated  by  succeeding  painters,  until  at  length  it  became 
a distinct  branch  of  art. 

“Pictures  are  books;  and  they  were  especially  so  con- 
sidered in  the  earliest  ages  of  painting  in  Europe,  when  so 
few  even  of  the  highest  classes  could  either  read  or  write. 
The  great  importance  of  painting,  therefore,  as  a means  of 
instruction,  will  account  for  the  whole  history  of  our  Saviour 
being  painted  on  one  panel.  The  artists,  very  justly,  con- 
sidered themselves  engaged  in  works  of  piety,  and  they 
employed  all  their  powers  to  tell  their  stories  with  the  greatest 
perspicuity.  In  the  first  simple  ages  of  painting  there  was 
no  display  of  the  technicalities  of  art;  they  were  indeed 
unknown.  The  holy  truths  of  Christianity  were  told  with 
sincerity,  in  pictures  filled  with  natural  expression  and 
purity  of  sentiment.  The  works  of  Cimabue,  Giotto,  etc., 
were  carried  in  procession  to  the  churches,  there  to  remain, 
to  enlighten  the  ignorant,  and  to  add  to  the  fervours  of  the 
devout. 

“ It  was  fortunate,  therefore,  for  landscape,  destined  as 
it  was  to  become  so  material  a feature  of  the  art,  that  it 
originated  and  was  in  its  infancy  nursed  in  the  hands  of  men 
who  were  masters  of  pathos.  As  early,  I believe,  as  Cimabue, 
and  certainly  Giotto,  landscape  became  impressive.  I am 
told  that  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  the  frescoes  exhibit 
wonderful  proofs  of  its  use  and  power.  The  names  of 
Ghirlandaio,  Barnardo,  and  Paolo  Uccello  (the  first  master 
of  perspective),  follow.  By  these  artists  architecture, 
vistas,  and  other  materials,  were  added  with  great  intelli- 
gence; so  much  so,  as  to  cause  us  not  to  be  surprised  at  the 
future  advance  of  landscape,  as  an  accompaniment,  in  the 
hands  of  Raphael.  In  his  early  pictures,  generally  holy 

R 


258  Life  of  Constable 

families,  and  many  of  which  may  be  seen  in  England,  it  is 
most  beautifully  and  appropriately  introduced;  the  single 
leaves  of  plants,  flowers,  and  that  religious  emblem  the 
trefoil,  in  his  foregrounds  are  very  elegantly  detailed;  and 
the  soothing  solitudes  of  his  middle  distances  find  a corre- 
sponding serenity  in  the  features  of  the  benign  and  lovely 
subjects  of  these  works.  In  the  first  of  the  grand  series  of 
frescoes  with  which  he  adorned  the  chambers  of  the  Vatican, 
he  has  placed  the  Eucharist  on  the  table  in  the  open  air. 
The  low  horizon  just  permits  the  tops  of  trees,  spires,  and 
gently  rising  hills  to  be  seen  over  the  altar,  and  the  serenity 
imparted  to  the  picture  by  an  exceedingly  elegant  landscape, 
aids  the  religious  feeling  which  reigns  over  the  whole.  In 
many  of  his  smaller  subjects  in  the  Loggia  of  the  Vatican, 
the  landscape  backgrounds  are  of  extreme  beauty,  and  of 
great  importance;  and  the  lovely  pastoral  scenery  of  that 
noble  cartoon,  the  ‘ Charge  to  Peter,’  is  probably  familiar 
to  all  my  auditors. 

“ Thus  was  landscape  cradled  in  the  lap  of  history,  at  a 
time  when  its  grandeur,  simplicity,  and  powers  of  expression 
were  carried  to  their  greatest  perfection  by  the  schools  of 
Italy;  and  it  thus  early  gained  a strength  and  dignity  which 
has  never  since  wholly  forsaken  it. 

“ Although  I shall  have  occasion  to  notice  its  obligations 
at  a later  period  to  the  German,  Dutch,  and  Flemish  colour  1 
and  delicacy  of  finish,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  advert  to 
what  would  probably  have  been  the  result,  had  its  cultivation 
at  the  time  at  which  we  have  arrived  been  carried  on  by  the 
German  and  Dutch  painters  only.  In  their  hands  dignity 
of  subject  never  excluded  meanness,  and  the  wretched 
material  introduced  into  their  historical  pictures  could  have 
led  to  nothing,  or  worse  than  nothing,  impressive.  The 
accompaniments  even  of  the  Nativity  were  often,  with  them, 
an  assemblage  of  the  mean  and  ridiculous.  An  owl,  seen 
through  a hole  in  a thatched  roof,  sitting  on  a beam  just  over 
the  head  of  the  Virgin,  with  a mouse  dangling  by  its  tail  from 
his  claw;  pigs  quarrelling  at  the  trough,  etc. — But  Albert 
Durer  and  Lucas  Van  Leyden,  though  they  have  been  guilty 

1 The  exquisite  colour  of  the  early  Flemish  art  as  seen  in  the  works 
of  Van  Eyck,  Hemmelinck,  etc.,  is  not  more  surprising  than  the  state 
of  perfect  preservation  in  which  the  tints  of  their  pictures,  some  of 
which  are  more  than  four  hundred  years  old,  still  remain. 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  259 

of  these  things,  have  occasionally  rendered  a very  different 
account  of  landscape.  The  background  to  the  figure  of 
‘ Fortune  ’ is  a grand  exception,  as  well  as  those  to  the 
‘ Prodigal  Son  ’ and  the  ‘ Armed  Knight;  ’ and  indeed  in  all 
Albert  Durer’s  landscape,  notwithstanding  the  objections 
I have  mentioned,  there  is  much  that  is  striking. 

“ It  was,  however,  at  Venice,  the  heart  of  colour,  and 
where  the  true  art  of  imitation  was  first  understood,  that 
landscape  assumed  a rank  and  decision  of  character  that 
spread  future  excellence  through  all  the  schools  of  Europe. 
Giorgione  and  Titian,  both  historical  painters,  were  early 
disciplined  in  the  schools  of  the  brothers  Bellini,  where  they 
were  taught  to  imitate  nature  in  what  has  been  termed  a 
servile  manner.  But  it  appears  to  have  been  the  true  way 
of  proceeding  if  we  may  judge  from  the  result;  for  after- 
wards, when  those  great  painters  had  attained  the  plenitude 
of  their  powers,  they  never  lost  their  respect  for  nature,  nor 
for  a moment  wandered  from  the  materials  which  were 
about  them,  and  which  they  had  been  taught  to  copy  so 
admirably,  into  the  vacant  fields  of  idealism.  In  the 
Venetian  school,  landscape  formed  a very  important  study, 
and  whether  separate  or  united  with  history,  it  was  here 
carried  to  a degree  of  perfection  it  had  never  before  attained. 

“ In  the  year  1520,  Titian,  then  in  his  fortieth  year, 
produced  his  celebrated  picture  of  the  martyrdom  of  the 
Dominican  Peter,  the  background  of  which,  although  not 
the  model,  may  be  considered  as  the  foundation  of  all  the 
styles  of  landscape  in  every  school  of  Europe  in  the  following 
century.  In  this  admirable  union  of  history  and  landscape, 
the  scene  is  on  the  skirts  of  a forest,  and  the  time  verging 
towards  the  close  of  day,  as  we  may  judge  from  the  level  and 
placid  movement  of  the  clouds  on  the  deep  blue  sky,  seen 
under  the  pendent  foliage  of  the  trees  which  overhang  the 
road.  The  choice  of  a low  horizon  greatly  aids  the  grandeur 
of  the  composition;  and  magnificent  as  the  larger  objects 
and  masses  of  the  picture  are,  the  minute  plants  in  the 
foreground  are  finished  with  an  exquisite  but  not  obtrusive 
touch,  and  even  a bird’s  nest  with  its  callow  brood  may  be 
discovered  among  the  branches  of  one  of  the  trees.  Amid 
this  scene  of  amenity  and  repose,  we  are  startled  by  the  rush 
of  an  assassin  on  two  helpless  travellers,  monks,  one  of  whom 
is  struck  down,  and  the  other  wounded  and  flying  in  the 


260 


Life  of  Constable 

utmost  terror.  At  the  top  of  the  picture,  through  the 
loftiest  branches  of  the  trees,  a bright  and  supernatural 
light  strikes  down  on  the  dying  man,  who  sees  in  the  glory 
a vision  of  angels  bearing  the  emblems  of  martyrdom;  and 
illuminating  in  its  descent  the  stems  and  foliage,  contrasts 
with  the  shadowy  gloom  of  the  wood. — The  elder  bush,  with 
its  pale  funereal  flowers,  introduced  over  the  head  of  the 
saint,  and  the  village  spire  in  the  distance,  the  object  of  his 
journey,  increase  the  interest  and  add  to  the  richness  of  the 
composition.  Admirable  also  is  the  contrivance  of  the  tight- 
drawn  drapery,  part  of  the  garment  of  the  martyr,  which, 
pressed  by  the  foot  of  the  assassin,  pins  his  victim  to  the 
earth. — The  noble  conception  of  this  great  work  is  equalled, 
I am  told,  by  its  breadth  and  its  tone,  while  the  extreme 
minuteness  and  variety  of  its  details  no  way  impair  the  unity 
of  its  impression. 

“ However  justly  the  historic  art  of  the  Bolognese  school 
may  be  termed  ‘ eclectic,’  the  landscape  of  the  Caracci  and 
Domenichino  cannot  be  so  considered,  as  each  possesses  a 
character  of  its  own. — The  landscape  of  Annibal  Caracci, 
though  severe,  is  grand  and  poetic,  not  to  meddle  with  the 
ambiguous  term  classic,  and  is  admirably  adapted  to  the 
fauns  and  satyrs,  and  other  mythological  beings  with  which 
he  peopled  it,  as  may  be  seen  in  that  most  felicitous  concep- 
tion of  Pan  and  Apollo  in  our  National  Gallery. 

“ The  Bolognese  landscape,  although  founded  mainly  on  the 
Venetian,  is  not  wholly  so.  Denis  Calvart,  bom  at  Antwerp 
in  1555,  died  at  Bologna  in  1619,  having  come  to  Italy  as  a 
landscape  painter,  on  purpose  to  perfect  himself  in  the  study 
of  the  figure.  He  learned  perspective  under  P.  Fontana, 
studied  at  Rome,  and  left  it  to  set  up  his  school  at  Bologna, 
in  which  Albano,  Domenichino  and  Guido  became  his  pupils. 

“ The  landscape  of  Domenichino  is  of  the  highest  order; 
and  although  it  bears  the  stamp  of  composition,  yet  we 
recognise  the  features  and  hues  of  nature  in  every  part  of  it. 
His  pictures  in  the  National  Gallery  are  poetic,  but  not  of  so 
high  a character  as  the  Orleans  picture  called  ‘ le  Batelier/ 
now  in  the  possession  of  Lord  Francis  Egerton.  The  subject 
is  pastoral;  sheep  flocking  to  a river,  over  which  a romantic 
bridge  discovers  through  its  lofty  arch  a wide  sheet  of  water 
falling  into  a lake.  Two  elegant  ash  trees  gently  overhang 
a neighbouring  steep.  The  lake  expands  in  the  centre  of  the 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  261 

picture,  on  which  the  boatman  is  seen,  and  a group  of  figures 
recline  on  the  grass  on  the  near  bank.  The  grandeur  of  the 
composition,  and  the  urbanity  of  tone  which  pervades  it, 
place  this  picture  in  the  highest  class  of  landscape. 

“In  the  ‘St.  Jerome’  of  Domenichino,  the  landscape  is 
accessory  only,  yet  most  important.  The  subject  of  the 
picture  is  an  aged  and  decrepit  man,  dying,  attended  by  the 
ministers  of  religion.  Through  columns  and  a lofty  arch  are 
seen  some  religious  buildings,  perhaps  often  the  scene  of  the 
dying  saint’s  good  works,  on  a gentle  eminence,  and  over- 
shadowed by  a single  group  of  trees.  The  placid  aspect  of 
this  simple  landscape  seems  like  a requiem  to  soothe  the 
departing  spirit:  its  effect  is  like  that  of  solemn  music  heard 
from  an  adjoining  apartment.  On  the  serene  blue  sky, 
hovering  cherubs  fill  and  complete  the  composition.  This 
noble  and  pathetic  picture,  if  not  so  startling  as  the  ‘ Peter 
Martyr,’  leaves  an  impression  as  lasting. — Yet  it  v/as  rejected 
by  the  authorities  of  the  church  for  which  it  was  painted, 
until  Nicolo  Poussin  restored  it  to  the  world,  and  in  a public 
harangue  (the  lecture  of  a painter)  pointed  out  its  beauties. 
It  is  mournful  to  reflect  that  neither  age,  worth,  nor  tran- 
scendent talents  could  screen  the  virtuous  Domenichino 
from  the  bad  passions  of  intriguing  contemporaries,  who 
blighted,  and  it  is  supposed,  ultimately  destroyed  a life  they 
ha,d  long  embittered. 1 

1 “ Domenichino  was  so  persecuted  and  overborne  by  the  partisans 
of  Guido,  that  his  picture  of  the  “ Communion  of  St.  Jerome  ” had  been 
torn  from  its  place  in  the  church  of  San  Girolamo  della  Carita,  and 
thrown  into  a garret,  where  it  remained  forgotten,  until  the  monks, 
desirous  of  having  a new  altar-piece,  requested  Poussin  to  paint  one 
for  them,  and  sent  him  Domenichino’s  picture  as  old  canvas  to  paint 
it  upon.  He  no  sooner  saw  it,  than,  struck  with  its  extraordinary 
merit,  he  carried  it  to  the  church  for  which  it  had  been  painted,  and 
gave  a public  lecture  upon  it,  in  which  he  dared  to  compare  it  with  the 
“ Transfiguration,”  and  called  these  two,  with  the  “ Descent  from  the 
Cross,”  by  Daniel  de  Volterra,  the  three  finest  pictures  in  Rome.  As 
to  the  accusation  that  the  composition  was  a theft,  from  the  sketch 
by  the  Caracci  on  the  same  subject,  he  showed  that  the  Caracci  had 
never  finished  their  picture,  and  that  as  it  was  altered  and  improved 
in  every  particular,  that  was  no  ground  for  condemnation;  for,  far 
from  injuring  them  by  his  appropriation  of  their  idea,  he  had  shown 
what  a noble  use  might  be  made  of  it,  and  from  it  had  composed  one 
of  the  finest  pictures  in  the  world.  The  public  had  only  to  be  roused 
by  a steady  and  right-judging  criticism;  the  elegant  but  weaker 
attractions  of  the  rival  school  gave  way,  and  Domenichino  thence- 
forward was  placed  in  his  just  rank  among  the  great  painters  of  Italy.” 
— Life  of  Nicolo  Poussin , by  Maria  Graham,  afterwards  Lady  Callcott. 
— Domenichino  was  still  living  when  his  picture  was  restored  to  its 
place  by  Poussin.  He  died  in  1641,  it  is  supposed  by  poison. 


262 


Life  of  Constable 


“ Although  no  distinct  landscape  is  known  by  the  hand  of 
Guido,  yet  in  a history  of  this  particular  branch  it  may  not 
be  improper  to  notice  its  immense  importance  as  an  accessory 
in  his  picture  of  ‘ Aurora.’  It  is  the  finest  instance  I know  of 
the  beauty  of  natural  landscape  brought  to  aid  a mythological 
story,  and  to  be  sensible  of  its  value  we  have  only  to  imagine 
a plain  background  in  its  stead.  But  though  Guido  has 
placed  us  in  the  heavens,  we  are  looking  towards  the  earth, 
where  seas  and  mountain  tops  are  receiving  the  first  beams 
of  the  morning  sun.  The  chariot  of  Apollo  is  borne  on  the 
clouds,  attended  by  the  Hours  and  preceded  by  Aurora,  who 
scatters  flowers;  and  the  landscape,  instead  of  diminishing 
the  illusion,  is  the  chief  means  of  producing  it,  and  is  indeed 
most  essential  to  the  story. 

“ Every  walk  of  landscape — historic — poetic — classic — 
and  pastoral,  were  familiar  to  Nicolo  Poussin;  and  so  various 
were  his  powers,  that  each  class,  in  his  hands',  vies  with  the 
rest  for  preference.  He  was  gifted  with  a peculiarly  sound 
judgment;  tranquil,  penetrating,  and  studious  of  what  was 
true  rather  than  of  what  was  novel  and  specious.  His  best 
performances  are  perhaps  to  be  found  among  what  may  be 
called  his  local  landscapes,  composed  often  from  the  scenery 
near  Rome,  such  as  the  1 Snake  at  the  Fountain,’  and  that 
admirable  picture  in  the  National  Gallery,  erroneously  called 
* Phocian;  ’ and  if  he  did  not  often  reach  the  lofty  energy 
of  the  Caracci,  or  the  sentiment  and  romantic  grandeur  of 
Domenichino,  yet  in  the  poetry  of  art  his  ‘ Polyphemus  ’ 
remains  unequalled,  and  in  the  awful  sublimity  of  the 
conception  of  his  picture  of  ‘ Winter,’  generally  known  as 
the  ‘ Deluge,’  he  has  surpassed  every  other  painter  who  has 
attempted  the  subject;  nor  can  there  be  a greater  proof  of 
the  effective  power  of  landscape  than  that  this  portentous 
event  should  have  been  best  told  by  landscape  alone,  the 
figures  being  few  and  entirely  subordinate. 

“ My  present  limits  do  not  allow  me  to  dwell  on  Gaspar 
Poussin,  although  a painter  of  exquisite  taste;  his  style  being 
for  the  most  part  compounded  from  that  of  his  brother-in- 
law  and  Claude  Lorraine.  Perhaps  his  best  works  are  his 
storms,  of  which  we  have  two  noble  specimens  in  the  national 
collection;  the  ‘ Dido  and  iEneas,’  and  its  companion. 

“ It  was  reserved  for  Paul  Bril,  who  arrived  at  Rome 
about  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  bringing  with  him 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  263 

from  Antwerp  a style  of  landscape  peculiarly  his  own,  and 
less  severe  than  that  of  the  Caracci,  to  exercise  an  influence 
on  the  art  which  was  destined  in  the  seventeenth  century  to 
extend  through  Bril’s  pupil,  Agostino  Tassi,  to  Claude  Lor- 
raine, and  to  lead  to  that  more  minute  imitation  of  particular 
nature  which  was  the  practice  of  the  French  and  German 
artists  of  the  time.  By  thus  engrafting  a certain  portion  of 
Flemish  art  on  that  of  Italy,  a more  perfect  and  beautiful 
transcript  of  nature  was  achieved  by  the  inimitable  Claude, 
and  conduced  to  the  production  of  those  exquisite  works  of 
his  pencil  which  are  wholly  without  rivalry  in  the  quality 
which  distinguishes  them  of  placid  brightness.  In  his  sea- 
views,  his  golden  sunsets,  his  wild  and  romantic  shores,  and 
his  exquisitely  poetic  pastoral  scenes,  the  luminous  beauties 
of  the  painter  are  so  clearly  developed  as  to  require  less 
explanation  than  the  qualities  of  many  of  the  works  already 
referred  to.  He  has  been  deemed  the  most  perfect  landscape 
painter  the  world  ever  saw,  and  he  fully  merits  the  distinc- 
tion. The  characteristics  of  his  pictures  are  always  those 
of  serene  beauty.  Sweetness  and  amenity  reign  through 
every  creation  of  his  pencil;  but  his  chief  power  consisted 
in  uniting  splendour  with  repose,  warmth  with  freshness, 
and  dark  with  light. — Although  he  was  a painter  of  fairy- 
land, and  sylvan  scenery  of  the  most  romantic  kind,  he  is 
nowhere  seen  to  greater  advantage  than  in  his  seaports, 
which,  while  they  possess  many  of  the  most  charming 
qualities  of  his  more  sequestered  landscapes,  are  full  of 
business  and  bustle. 

“ The  names  of  Salvator  Rosa  and  Sebastian  Bourdon 
come  next  in  an  account  of  the  art  in  which  they  so  much 
excelled.  The  one,  wild  and  terrific  in  his  conceptions  of 
natural  scenery,  formed  his  mind  amid  the  savage  recesses 
of  the  Abruzzi,  and  painted  subjects  which  best  accorded 
with  its  character.  The  other  equally  romantic,  but  more 
visionary,  selected  as  the  materials  of  his  pictures  solitudes 
among  rocks,  waterfalls,  and  solemn-looking  buildings  which 
he  peopled  with  monks  and  hermits. 

“ In  following  the  art  to  Flanders  we  find  the  magnificent 
Rubens,  with  his  numerous  followers,  Vadder,  Fouquieres, 
Artois,  Huysman,  Van  Uden,  etc.  In  no  other  branch  of 
the  art  is  Rubens  greater  than  in  landscape; — the  freshness 
and  dewy  light,  the  joyous  and  animated  character  which  he 


264  Life  of  Constable 

has  imparted  to  it,  impressing  on  the  level  monotonous 
scenery  of  Flanders  all  the  richness  which  belongs  to  its 
noblest  features.  Rubens  delighted  in  phenomena; — rain- 
bows upon  a stormy  sky, — bursts  of  sunshine, — moonlight, — 
meteors, — and  impetuous  torrents  mingling  their  sound  with 
wind  and  wave.  Among  his  finest  works  are  a pair  of 
landscapes,  which  came  to  England  from  Genoa,  one  of  which 
is  now  in  the  National  Gallery. 

“ In  Holland,  Rembrandt’s  ‘ Mill  ’ is  of  itself  sufficient  to 
form  an  epoch  in  the  art.  This  is  the  first  picture  in  which 
a sentiment  has  been  expressed  by  chiaroscuro  only,  all 
details  bieng  excluded. — Nor  must  the  names  of  Ruysdael 
and  Cuyp  be  overlooked  as  distinguished  from  numerous 
other  painters  by  traits  peculiarly  their  own. 

“ On  the  death  of  these  great  men  Landscape  rapidly 
declined;  and  during  almost  the  whole  of  the  succeeding 
century,  little  was  produced  beyond  mannered  and  feeble 
imitations  of  their  art, — the  painters  of  this  period  adding 
nothing  to  the  general  stock,  as  their  predecessors  had  done 
by  original  study,  but  referring  always  to  the  pictures  of 
their  masters  instead  of  looking  to  the  aspects  of  nature 
which  had  given  birth  to  those  pictures.  From  this  degraded 
and  fallen  state  it  is  delightful  to  say  that  landscape  painting 
revived  in  our  own  country,  in  all  its  purity,  simplicity,  and 
grandeur,  in  the  works  of  Wilson,  Gainsborough,  Cozens,  and 
Girtin. 

“ It  is  a striking  feature  in  the  history  of  all  the  arts  and 
sciences,  though  it  has  not  perhaps  been  noticed  in  ours, 
that  the  great  names  by  which  they  have  each  been  supported 
are  about  equal  in  number  in  any  given  space  of  time.  The 
names  of  the  painters  I have  mentioned  and  which  have 
become  points  marking  the  epochs  of  landscape,  correspond 
numerically  with  those  of  the  eminent  men  who  have  materi- 
ally enlarged  the  boundaries  of  each  of  the  other  departments 
in  art,  literature,  and  science.  It  will  not  be  easy  to  add 
to  those  I have  enumerated,  as  forming  the  fixed  stars  in 
the  hemisphere  of  art,  and  although  others  of  great  talent 
crowd  in,  1 Thick  as  autumnal  leaves,’  to  fill  the  interstices, 
yet  they  all  emanate  from,  or  converge  into  those  which 
form  the  great  points,  and  my  limits  do  not  permit  an 
account  of  them  here.  Should,  however,  at  any  future  time 
my  humble  services  be  employed  in  any  further  inquiry  of 


Lecture  at  Hampstead  265 

this  kind,  they  must  in  justice  be  brought  forward,  as  each 
brings  in  his  hand  a flower  snatched  by  himself  from  the 
lap  of  nature. 

“ I shall  conclude  with  a brief  allusion  to  a certain  set  of 
painters,  who,  having  substituted  falsehood  for  truth,  and 
formed  a style  mean  and  mechanical,  are  termed  mannerists. 
Much  of  the  confusion  of  opinions  in  art  arising  from  false 
taste  is  caused  by  works  of  this  stamp,  for  if  the  mannerists 
had  never  existed,  painting  would  always  have  been  easily 
understood.  The  education  of  a professed  connoisseur  being 
chiefly  formed  in  the  picture  gallery  and  auction  room, 
seldom  enables  him  to  perceive  the  vast  difference  between 
the  mannerist  and  the  genuine  painter.  To  do  this  requires 
long  and  close  study,  and  a constant  comparison  of  the  art 
with  nature.  So  few  among  the  buyers  and  sellers  of  pictures 
possess  any  knowledge  so  derived,  that  the  works  of  the 
mannerists  often  bear  as  large  a price  in  the  market  as  those 
of  the  genuine  painters.  The  difference  is  not  understood 
by  picture  dealers,  and  thus,  in  a mercantile  way,  has  a kind 
of  art  been  propagated  and  supported  from  age  to  age, 
deserving  only  to  be  classed  with  the  showy  and  expensive 
articles  of  drawing-room  furniture.  To  this  species  of 
painting  belong  the  works  that  have  marked  the  decay  of 
styles  and  filled  the  intervals  between  the  appearances  of 
the  great  artists.  They  are  the  productions  of  men  who 
have  lost  sight  of  nature,  and  strayed  into  the  vacant  fields 
of  idealism;  sometimes,  indeed,  with  talent,  and  even  with 
power,  as  in  Wouvermans,1  Berghem,  Both,  Vernet,  Zuc- 

1 The  great  merit  of  Wouvermans  only  makes  it  the  more  important 
that  the  wide  departure  from  nature  in  his  highly-wrought  works 
should  be  pointed  out.  No  perfection  of  execution  can  atone  for  inky 
foregrounds,  slaty  trees  and  distances,  and  leaden  skies;  but  it  may 
well  be  doubted  whether  that  execution  should  be  called  perfect  which 
reduces  every  object  to  a Lilliputian  scale.  They  are  exactly  such 
painters  as  Wouvermans,  so  near  excellence  in  the  minutias  of  a picture, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  false  in  the  whole  together,  of  whom  Constable 
has  well  said,  “ had  they  never  existed,  painting  would  always  have 
been  easily  understood.” 

There  is  a class  of  the  Dutch  painters  of  familiar  life,  men  of  much 
talent,  ingenuity,  and  patience,  at  the  head  of  which  Gerard  Dow 
may  be  placed,  whose  works  call  forth  the  wonder  of  ignorance  rather 
than  the  admiration  of  taste,  though  from  their  scarcity  they  often 
command  higher  prices  than  the  pictures  of  Jan  Steen,  Ostade,  Ter- 
burgh,  Metzu,  De  Hooghe,  and  Nicholas  Maas,  the  great  masters  of 
familiar  life  of  the  Dutch  school,  and  in  some  of  whose  best  works  is 
perhaps  to  be  found  the  most  perfect  art  the  world  ever  saw. 


266 


Life  of  Constable 


cherelli,  and  Loutherbourg;  but  oftener  with  feebleness  and 
imbecility,  as  in  Jacob  Moore,  Hackert,  etc.” 

Previously  to  the  delivery  of  Constable’s  lectures  in  London, 
the  following  card  was  printed: 

“ ROYAL  INSTITUTION  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN. 

ALBEMARLE  STREET,  23RD  APRIL,  1 836. 

SYLLABUS 

OF 

A COURSE  OF  LECTURES, 

ON 

THE  HISTORY  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING, 

BY 

JOHN  CONSTABLE,  Esq.,  R.A. 

TO  BE  DELIVERED  ON  THURSDAY,  MAY  26TH,  AND  THE  THREE  FOLLOWING 
THURSDAYS  AT  THREE  O’CLOCK. 

“ Lecture  ist,  May  26th.  The  Origin  of  Landscape — 
Coeval  in  Italy  and  Germany  in  its  rise  and  early  progress 
— Farther  advanced  in  Germany  in  the  Fifteenth  Century 
— Albert  Durer  — Influence  of  his  Works  in  Italy  — Titian 
impressed  by  them;  in  his  hands  Landscape  assumed  its 
real  dignity  and  grandeur,  and  entitled  him  to  the  appellation 
of  the  Father  of  Landscape — The  ‘ St.  Peter  Martyr.’ 

“ Lecture  2nd,  June  2nd.  Establishment  of  Landscape — 
The  Bolognese  School.  By  this  School  Landscape  was  first 
made  a separate  Class  of  Art — The  Sixteenth  and  Seven- 
teenth Centuries — The  Caracci — Domenichino — Albano — 
Mola — Landscape  soon  after  perfected  in  Rome — The 
Poussins — Claude  Lorraine — Bourdon — Salvator  Rosa — The 
‘ Bambocciate  ’ — Peter  de  Laar — Both — Berghem — The  De- 
terioration of  Landscape  — Its  Decline  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century. 

“ Lecture  3rd,  June  9th.  Landscape  of  the  Dutch  and 
Flemish  Schools — Emanates  from  the  School  of  Albert  Durer, 
forming  distinct  branches — Rubens — Rembrandt — Ruysdael 
— Cuyp — The  marks  which  characterise  the  two  Schools — 
Their  decline,  also,  in  the  Eighteenth  Century 


First  Lecture  at  the  Royal  Institution  267 

“ Lecture  4th,  June  16.  The  decline  and  revival  of  Art. 
Imitation  of  preceding  excellence  opposed  to  original  study, 
the  main  cause  of  the  decline — The  Restoration  of  Painting 
takes  place  in  England — Hogarth — Reynolds — Wilson — 
Gainsborough — West — When  Landscape  at  length  resumes 
its  birthright,  and  appears  with  new  powers.” 


LECTURE  I 

May  26  th 

“ I am  here  on  the  behalf  of  my  own  profession,  and  I trust 
it  is  with  no  intrusive  spirit  that  I now  stand  before  you; 
but  I am  anxious  that  the  world  should  be  inclined  to  look 
to  painters  for  information  on  painting.  I hope  to  show 
that  ours  is  a regularly  taught  profession;  that  it  is  scientific 
as  well  as  poetic  ; that  imagination  alone  never  did,  and  never 
can,  produce  works  that  are  to  stand  by  a comparison  with 
realities  ; and  to  show,  by  tracing  the  connecting  links  in 
the  history  of  landscape  painting,  that  no  great  painter  was 
ever  self-taught. 

“ The  art  of  painting  may  be  divided  into  two  main 
branches,  history  and  landscape;  history  including  portrait 
and  familiar  life,  as  landscape  does  flower  and  fruit  painting. 

“ Landscape  is  the  child  of  history,  and  though  at  first 
inseparable  from  the  parent,  yet  in  time  it  went  alone,  and 
at  a later  period  (to  continue  the  figure),  when  history 
showed  signs  of  decrepitude,  the  child  may  be  seen  sup- 
porting the  parent,  as  in  the  works  of  Pietro  da  Cortona. 
Although  it  was  in  the  school  of  the  Caracci  landscape  first 
stood  quite  alone,  yet  as  early  as  the  year  1546  there  were 
distinct  landscape  painters  in  Germany.”  Constable  showed 
an  enlarged  drawing  from  an  engraving  of  a landscape  by 
Albert  Durer,  in  which  a cannon  placed  on  an  eminence  over- 
looking an  extensive  country,  forms  a foreground  object. 
He  pointed  out  the  grandeur  of  this  work,  and  said,  “ There 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  Titian  had  received  early  and  deep 
impressions  from  the  works  of  Albert  Durer  and  other 
Germans.” 

“ The  writers  on  art  employ  the  word  School  to  denote 
a similarity  of  feeling  and  practice  in  many  individuals  arising 


268 


Life  of  Constable 


from  the  example  of  one  powerful  mind,  yet  by  no  means 
implying  a want  of  originality  in  the  rest.  The  greatest 
masters  were  largely  indebted  to  their  predecessors.  Each 
sprang  from,  and  in  turn  founded,  a school ; but  in  the  com- 
plicated art  of  painting  so  many  avenues  to  excellence  are 
open,  that  every  painter,  in  every  school,  whose  fame  has 
outlived  his  age,  is  distinguished  from  all  the  rest  by  some 
perfection  which  is  to  be  found  with  himself  only.” 

Near  the  commencement  of  this  lecture,  Constable  exhi- 
bited a drawing  from  a very  grand  and  simple  composition 
by  Paolo  Uccello,  of  Noah  and  his  family  kneeling  round  an 
altar,  while  the  birds  and  beasts  are  leaving  the  ark,  the 
whole  arched  by  the  rainbow.  “ Uccello  was  either  the 
inventor  or  the  perfector  of  parallel  perspective,  and  this 
new  art  is  beautifully  shown  in  the  flight  of  the  birds.  Titian’s 
Comaro  family  somewhat  resembles  this  picture.” 

In  speaking  of  the  “ Peter  Martyr  ” of  Titian,  he  said, 
“ The  monk,  afterwards  canonised  as  St.  Peter,  was  a general 
of  the  Dominicans  and  an  inquisitor.  In  the  zeal  displayed 
by  him  in  the  last  of  these  offices  he  had  given  great  offence  to 
a powerful  family,  who  employed  an  assassin  to  waylay  and 
murder  him.  In  the  representation  of  this  subject  Titian 
has  brought  together  a rich  assemblage  of  picturesque  objects 
producing  a felicitous  combination  of  the  two  most  important 
walks  of  art, — history  and  landscape;  and  contrasting  them 
so  as  to  enhance  the  sentiment  of  each.  We  see  a deed  of 
horror  perpetrated  with  the  utmost  energy  of  action,  in  a 
scene,  hitherto  one  of  stillness  and  repose.”  Constable  then 
spoke  of  the  probable  manner  in  which  Titian  proceeded  with 
the  composition  of  the  picture,  and  whether  in  every  respect 
he  guessed  rightly  or  not,  he  accomplished  his  principal 
object,  which  was  to  show  that  the  greatest  works  of  genius 
are  not  thrown  off  as  if  by  inspiration,  but  on  the  contrary, 
are  the  result  of  patient  labour,  and  often  undergo  many 
changes  of  plan  during  their  progress.  He  showed  an  old 
print  bearing  the  name  of  Titian,  in  which  the  saint  is  look- 
ing down  and  writing  with  his  finger  on  the  ground  the  word 
credo,  while  the  assassin  who  holds  him  by  his  drapery  is 
about  to  strike  a death  blow  with  his  sword.  “ This,”  he 
said,  “ was  possibly  a mode  in  which  it  was  suggested  by  the 
monks  that  the  subject  should  be  treated,  and  the  engraving 
may  have  been  made  from  a first  design.  But  Titian  could 


First  Lecture  at  the  Royal  Institution  269 

not  rest  contented  with  the  unnatural  incident  of  a man 
writing  while  in  the  grasp  of  an  assassin,  and  he  therefore 
turned  the  face  of  the  victim  towards  the  murderer,  and 
afterwards  still  more  so,  with  an  expression  of  great  horror.’ * 
Constable  here  showed  a copy  of  an  original  sketch  by 
Titian  (one  of  the  Lawrence  collection),  in  which  the  saint 
has  the  outlines  of  three  heads  drawn  one  over  the  other, 
the  first  looking  down,  the  others  more  and  more  turned  up, 
and  said, — “ still  this  made  the  subject  nothing  more  than 
a common  murder  by  the  roadside,  and  it  wanted  the  dignity 
of  a martyrdom.  The  composition  was  then  heightened,  the 
vision  of  angels  introduced,  and  the  head  of  the  saint  again 
altered,  so  as  to  look  up  to  the  glory  that  now  beamed  down 
on  him.”  Several  sketches  supposed  to  be  by  Titian  seemed 
to  confirm  these  conjectures,  and  by  these  it  also  appeared 
that  the  tall  tree  on  the  right  of  the  picture,  with  small 
round  leaves,  was  an  after-thought,  and  made  necessary  by 
the  additional  height  given  to  the  picture;  it  is  not  in  the 
sketch  of  the  landscape  alone.  “ It  is  striking,”  said  Con- 
stable, “ to  observe  with  what  consummate  skill  the  painter, 
like  a great  musician,  has  varied  his  touch  and  execution 
from  slow  movements  to  those  of  extreme  rapidity.  Thus 
the  quick  and  vivid  sparks  of  light  near  and  upon  the 
assassin’s  arm,  hand,  and  sword,  give  inconceivable  energy 
to  his  action,  and  contrast  finely  with  the  solemn  quiet  of 
the  retiring  forest.1 

“ Reynolds  has  censured  Count  Algarotti  for  admiring  the 
minute  discrimination  of  the  leaves  and  plants  in  the  fore- 
ground, but  Sir  Joshua  was  swayed  by  his  own  practice  of 
generalising  to  such  a degree  that  we  often  find  in  his  fore- 
grounds rich  masses  of  colour,  of  light  and  of  shade,  which, 
when  examined,  mean  nothing.  In  Titian  there  is  equal 
breadth,  equal  subordination  of  the  parts  to  the  whole,  but 
the  spectator  finds,  on  approaching  the  picture,  that  every 
touch  is  the  representative  of  a reality ; and  as  this  carries  on 
the  illusion,  it  cannot  surely  detract  from  the  merit  of  the 
work. 

1 The  murderer  has  the  shirt  sleeve  stripped  from  his  right  arm. 
as  in  the  old  pictures  of  decapitations  by  the  sword,  the  right  arm  of 
the  executioner  is  bared.  This  circumstance  which  makes  the  figure 
more  picturesque,  aids  the  story  by  showing  that  the  crime  was  pre- 
meditated. In  the  earlier  design  of  the  subject,  the  assassin  is  entirely 
dressed. 


2jo  Life  of  Constable 

“ Mr.  West  said  of  the  £ Peter  Martyr/  that  ‘ it  had  re- 
quired three  hundred  years  to  produce  such  a work  ; ’ and  this 
will  be  found  to  be  about  the  time  from  the  revival  of  the 
art  in  the  middle  ages  to  that  in  which  it  was  painted. 

“ Titian  was  by  no  means  high  in  reputation  when  he 
produced  this  great  work,  and  so  inadequate  was  the  remu- 
neration he  received  for  it,  and  for  many  others  that  had 
preceded  it,  that  he  was  in  a condition  little  removed  from 
indigence.  Albert  Durer,  who  at  that  time  visited  Venice, 
does  not  mention  him  in  speaking  of  the  most  eminent 
painters  there ; it  was  not,  indeed,  until  through  the  praises 
bestowed  on  his  works  by  his  friend  Peitro  Aretino,  the  poet, 
he  was  called  to  Bologna  to  paint  the  portrait  of  Charles  V. 
in  1530,  that  he  became  the  great  idol  of  popularity  in  Italy, 
and  indeed,  of  Europe.”  1 


LECTURE  II 

June  2nd 

Constable  began  this  lecture  with  the  Caracci,  in  whose 
school  landscape  first  became  permanently  a distinct  branch 
of  the  art,  and  recapitulated  what  he  had  said  at  Hampstead 
of  Domenichino.  He  characterised  also  the  art  of  Albano 
and  Mola,  but  of  this  part  of  his  discourse  I have  no  notes. 

He  spoke  of  Claude  Lorraine  as  “ a painter  whose  works 
had  given  unalloyed  pleasure  for  two  centuries.  In  Claude’s 
landscape  all  is  lovely — all  amiable — all  is  amenity  and 
repose; — the  calm  sunshine  of  the  heart.  He  carried  land- 
scape, indeed,  to  perfection,  that  is,  human  perfection.  No 
doubt  the  greatest  masters  considered  their  best  efforts  but 
as  experiments,  and  perhaps  as  experiments  that  had  failed 
when  compared  with  their  hopes,  their  wishes,  and  with 
what  they  saw  in  nature.  When  we  speak  of  the  perfection 

1 In  a note  to  Mr.  Purton,  dated  May  28th,  1836,  Constable  says, 
“ How  did  I get  on?  Faraday  said  it  pleased  him;  Sir  Martin  and 
Howard  liked  it;  Phillips  did  not  like  my  unbigoted  mention  of  Sir 
Joshua’s  observation  on  Algarotti,  and  said  I was  wrong:  I knew  I 
was  quite  right.  1 trust  you  will  follow  me  through  my  sermons,  and 
help  me  in  putting  them  together  afterwards.  I hope  to  murder 
Both  and  Berghem  on  Thursday  next  at  a quarter  to  four  o’clock. 
The  rest  that  come  after  are  not  worth  murdering.” 


Second  Lecture 


271 

of  art,  we  must  recollect  what  the  materials  are  with  which 
a painter  contends  with  nature.  For  the  light  of  the  sun 
he  has  but  patent  yellow  and  white  lead, — for  the  darkest 
shade,  umber  or  soot. 

“ Brightness  was  the  characteristic  excellence  of  Claude; 
brightness,  independent  on  colour,  for  what  colour  is  there 
here?  ” (holding  up  a glass  of  water.) 

“ The  * St.  Ursula,’  in  the  National  Gallery,  is  probably 
the  finest  picture  of  middle  tint  in  the*  world.  The  sun  is 
rising  through  a thin  mist,  which,  like  the  effect  of  a gauze 
blind  in  a room,  diffuses  the  light  equally.  There  are  no 
large  dark  masses.  The  darks  are  in  the  local  colours  of  the 
foreground  figures,  and  in  small  spots;  yet  as  a whole,  it  is 
perfect  in  breadth.  There  is  no  evasion  in  any  part  of  this 
admirable  work,  every  object  is  fairly  painted  in  a firm  style 
of  execution,  yet  in  no  other  picture  have  I seen  the  evanes- 
cent character  of  light  so  well  expressed. 

“ Claude,  though  one  of  the  most  isolated  of  all  painters, 
was  still  legitimately  connected  with  the  chain  of  art.  Els- 
heimer  and  Paul  Bril  opened  the  way  to  him,  coming  after 
the  Caracci,  with  a softer  and  richer  style  than  theirs. — 
Could  the  histories  of  all  the  fine  arts  be  compared,  we  should 
find  in  them  many  striking  analogies.  Corelli  was  to  Handel 
what  Elsheimer  and  Paul  Bril  were  to  Claude.  Claude  (as 
he  is)  could  not  have  existed  without  them.  He  was,  there- 
fore, not  a self-taught  artist,  nor  did  there  ever  exist  a great 
artist  who  was  so.  A self-taught  artist  is  one  taught  by  a very 
ignorant  person. 

“ Claude  neglected  no  mode  of  study  that  was  calculated 
to  extend  his  knowledge,  and  perfect  his  practice.  His 
evenings  were  passed  at  the  Academy,  and  his  days  in  the 
fields;  and  though  it  is  the  fashion  to  find  fault  with  his 
figures  indiscriminately,  yet  in  his  best  time  they  are  so  far 
from  being  objectionable,  that  we  cannot  easily  imagine  any- 
thing else  according  so  well  with  his  scenes; — as  objects  of 
colour,  they  seem  indispensable.  Wilson  said  to  a friend 
who  was  talking  of  them  in  the  usual  manner,  ‘ Do  not  fall 
into  the  common  mistake  of  objecting  to  Claude’s  figures.’ — 
In  the  little  picture  of  ‘ Cephalus  and  Procris,’  the  expression 
of  the  former  is  very  touching;  and,  indeed,  nothing  can  be 
finer  than  the  way  in  which  Claude  has  told  that  affecting 
story  throughout.  Procris  has  come  from  her  concealment 


Life  of  Constable 


272 

to  die  at  the  feet  of  her  husband.  Above  her  is  a withered 
tree  clasped  by  ivy,  an  emblem  of  love  in  death, — while  a 
stag  seen  on  the  outline  of  a hill,  over  which  the  rising  sun 
spreads  his  rays,  explains  the  cause  of  the  fatal  mistake. 
Claude’s  own  figures  always  accord  better  with  his  scenes 
than  those  sometimes  introduced  for  him  by  other  artists. 
Painting  does  not  readily  admit  of  partnership. 

“ But  of  Claude,  it  may  be  proper  to  remark,  that  his  style 
and  mode  of  execution,  and  even  of  thinking,  varied  much  at 
different  periods  of  life.  Of  his  very  early  manner  we  know 
little;  in  middle  age  he  appeared  in  the  most  perfect  state, 
and  from  which  he  fast  declined,  so  much  so  that  the  dates 
of  his  pictures  (which  can  for  the  most  part  be  ascertained) 
will  serve  as  a criterion  of  their  merit.  Between  the  ages  of 
forty  and  sixty  he  produced  most  of  those  works  in  which 
are  seen  his  peculiar  attribute,  brightness,  in  its  greatest 
perfection.  Some  of  his  best  pictures  are  in  the  National 
Gallery, — the  ‘ Narcissus,’  painted  at  forty-four,  the  * Hagar  ’ 
at  forty-six,  and  the  ‘ St.  Ursula,’  under  sixty.  Those  of  his 
latter  time  are  cold,  heavy,  and  dark,  though  stately, — for 
he  seemed  as  if  trying  to  make  up  by  grandeur  of  subject 
and  conception  for  the  loss  of  that  excellence  which,  in  the 
decline  of  life,  and  in  the  absence  of  his  former  habits  of 
incessant  observation  of  nature,  was  now  departing  from 
him.  It  is  in  these  last  pictures  that  his  figures  are  defective 
in  their  proportions;  and  though  it  must  be  admitted  that 
some  of  his  most  important  works  (as  the  1 Doria  ’ and  the 
4 Altieri  ’)  were  painted  in  his  old  age,  still  with  all  their 
grandeur,  they  are  in  his  black,  his  cold,  or  his  green  manner. 
There  are  undoubted  productions  of  his  pencil,  however,  so 
destitute  of  his  distinguishing  excellence,  that  it  may  be 
said  purchasers  are  not  always  buying  a Claude  when  they 
are  buying  a picture  painted  by  him.1 

“ The  landscapes  of  Sebastian  Bourdon  are  all  poetry; 
visionary,  romantic,  abstracted.  Sir  George  Beaumont  said 
of  this  imaginative  painter  that  ‘ he  was  the  prince  of  the 
dreamers,  yet  not  without  nature .’  ” — Constable  showed  a 
drawing  of  some  pine  trees  from  nature,  of  peculiarly  wild 

1 The  story  so  often  repeated  of  Claude’s  apprenticeship  to  a pastry- 
cook rests  on  no  foundation  whatever.  The  best  account  of  the 
little  known  of  his  early  life  is  given  by  Mr.  Smith,  in  his  Catalogue 
Raisonne  of  the  works  of  the  Dutch,  Flemish,  and  French  painters. 


Second  Lecture 


273 

and  eccentric  forms,  and  compared  them  with  trees  ex- 
tremely like  them  in  an  engraving  after  Bourdon,  to  prove 
that  the  latter  were  not  imaginary. — He  spoke  of  “ The 
Return  of  the  Ark  ” in  the  National  Gallery  as  a very  fine 
specimen  of  the  style  of  this  painter. 

“ The  circumstances  attending  the  life  and  education  of 
Salvator  Rosa  were  peculiar,  and  show  how  his  character  and 
that  of  his  art  were  formed,  or  rather  confirmed.  He  was 
first  placed  with  Francesco  Francanzani,  and  he  then  became 
one  of  the  desperate  school  of  Anniello  Falcone,  a battle 
painter,  who  formed  the  ‘ Company  of  Death  ’ at  Naples,  in 
the  revolt  with  Masaniello.  He  was  afterwards  for  a short 
time  in  the  school  of  Spagnoletto; — thus  he  had  savages 
for  his  masters  in  painting,  and  he  painted  savage  subjects. 
Salvator  Rosa  is  a great  favourite  with  novel  writers,  parti- 
cularly the  ladies ; and  it  has  lately  been  attempted  to  show 
that  he  deserved  the  reputation  to  which  he  always  aspired, 
of  a great  historical  painter.  But  there  is  a meanness  in  all 
his  conceptions  of  history  which  must  ever  exclude  him  from 
its  first  ranks,  and  Fuseli,  with  true  judgment,  admits  him 
to  be  a great  genius  only  in  landscape. 

“ A class  of  artists  now  appeared,  in  all  respects  the 
reverse  of  the  last,  and  whose  style  Salvator  has  satirised 
in  one  of  his  sonnets  with  more  justice  than  when  he  pre- 
sumed to  censure  Michael  Angelo. 

“ Peter  de  Laar,  who  travelled  from  Holland  into  Italy, 
and  was  there  surnamed  ‘ Bamboccio,’  probably  from  the 
class  of  subjects  he  painted,  which  were  the  various  sports  of 
the  populace  and  the  transactions  of  vulgar  life,  gave  rise  to 
a school  called  by  the  Italians,  ‘ The  Bambocciate/  Of  this 
school  were  Both  and  Berghem,  who,  by  an  incongruous 
mixture  of  Dutch  and  Italian  taste,  produced  a bastard  style 
of  landscape,  destitute  of  the  real  excellence  of  either.  In 
their  works,  all  the  commonplace  rules  of  art  are  observed; 
their  manipulation  is  dextrous,  and  their  finish  plausible; 
yet  their  pictures  carry  us  in  imagination  only  into  their 
painting  rooms,  not  as  the  pictures  of  Claude  and  Poussin 
do,  into  the  open  air.  They  rarely  approach  truth  of  atmos- 
phere. Instead  of  freshness  they  give  us  a clean  and  stony 
coldness,  and  where  they  aim  at  warmth  they  are  what 
painters  call  foxy.  Their  art  is  destitute  of  sentiment  or 
poetic  feeling,  because  it  is  factitious,  though  their  works 

s 


Life  of  Constable 


274 

being  specious,  their  reputation  is  still  kept  up  by  the  dealers, 
who  continue  to  sell  their  pictures  for  high  prices.1  Land- 
scape was  afterwards  still  farther  debased  by  Vernet,  Hakert,2 
Jacob  Moor,  and  the  English  Woo  ton,  the  last  of  whom, 
without  manual  dexterity,  left  it  in  unredeemed  poverty 
and  coarseness,  until  Hogarth  and  Reynolds  aroused  the 
minds  of  our  countrymen,  and  directed  them  to  nature  by 
their  own  splendid  examples;  then,  with  Wilson  and  Gains- 
borough, the  high  and  genuine  qualities  of  landscape 
appeared  in  England  at  a time  when  they  were  utterly 
unknown  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 

“ The  deterioration  of  art  has  everywhere  proceeded  from 
similar  causes,  the  imitation  of  preceding  styles,  with  little 
reference  to  nature.  In  Italy,  the  taste  was  for  the  beautiful, 
but  the  beautiful  in  the  hands  of  the  mannerists  became  the 
insipid,  and  from  that  descended  to  the  unmeaning.  In 
Germany  a clumsy  imitation  of  Italian  art,  -and  particularly 
of  M.  Angelo,  produced  inflation  and  bombast,  as  in  the 
works  of  Goltzius  and  Sprangher;  while  in  Flanders  and 
Holland,  the  taste  for  the  picturesque,  when  colour,  chiaros- 
curo, and  execution  were  gone,  left  only  the  coarse  and  the 
mean. 

“ The  decline  of  history  was  parallel  with  that  of  land- 
scape. What  is  termed  the  * French  taste  ’ (as  opposed  to 
good  taste),  and  which  may  be  characterised  as  romantic 
hyperbole,  began  with  Lucatelli,  a pupil  of  Pietro  da  Cortona, 
who  died  about  1717.  He  was  an  Italian,  and  practised  his 
art  chiefly  in  Rome;  but  his  style  soon  spread  itself  in 
France,  where  it  destroyed  whatever  may  have  remained 
of  the  influence  of  Poussin,  Le  Sueur,  or  Sebastian  Bourdon. 
He  painted  chiefly  historical  subjects  for  churches,  and  was 
like  his  master,  a compendious  painter — a mannerist — 
a self- worshipper;  he  preferred  forms  of  his  own  imagination 
to  those  of  nature.  In  his  works  may  be  seen  the  beginning 
of  that  prettiness  which  soon  afterwards  in  Marco  Ricci, 
Paulo  Panini,  and  Zuccherelli,  and  Vernet  in  landscape, 
displayed  itself  so  offensively.  In  history,  Mengs,  Cipriani, 

1 After  this  lecture,  one  of  Constable’s  auditors,  a gentleman  posses- 
sing a fine  collection  of  pictures,  said  to  him,  “ I suppose  I had  better 
sell  my  Berghems,”  to  which  he  replied,  “ No,  sir,  that  will  only 
continue  the  mischief,  burn  them." 

2 Not  Hackaert,  a Dutch  painter,  bom  in  1635,  but  Hakert,  a 
Prussian,  born  a century  later. 


Second  Lecture 


275 

Angelica  Kauffman,  etc.,  followed  this  emasculated  taste, 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  that  is  found  in  art. 

“ But  the  climax  of  absurdity  to  which  the  art  may  be 
carried,  when  led  away  from  nature  by  fashion,  may  be  best 
seen  in  the  works  of  Boucher.  Good  temper,  suavity,  and 
dissipation,  characterised  the  personal  habits  of  this  per- 
fect specimen  of  the  French  School  of  the  time  of  Louis 
XV.,  or  the  early  part  of  the  last  century.  His  landscape, 
of  which  he  was  evidently  fond,  is  pastoral;  and  such 
pastorality!  the  pastoral  of  the  opera-house.  But  at  this 
time,  it  must  be  remembered,  the  court  were  in  the  habit  of 
dispersing  into  the  country,  and  duchesses  were  to  be  seen 
performing  the  parts  of  shepherdesses,  milkmaids,  and  dairy- 
maids, in  cottages ; and  also  brewing,  baking,  and  gardening, 
and  sending  the  produce  to  market.1  These  strange  anoma- 
lies were  played  off  on  the  canvases  of  Boucher.  His 
scenery  is  a bewildered  dream  of  the  picturesque.  From 
cottages  adorned  with  festoons  of  ivy,  sparrow  pots,  etc., 
are  seen  issuing  opera  dancers  with  mops,  brooms,  milk  pails, 
and  guitars;  children  with  cocked  hats,  queues,  bag  wigs, 
and  swords, — and  cats,  poultry,  and  pigs.  The  scenery  is 
diversified  with  winding  streams,  broken  bridges,  and  water 
wheels;  hedge  stakes  dancing  minuets — and  groves  bowing 
and  curtsying  to  each  other;  the  whole  leaving  the  mind  in  a 
state  of  bewilderment  and  confusion,  from  which  laughter 
alone  can  relieve  it.2 — Boucher  told  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
‘ that  he  never  painted  from  the  life,  for  that  nature  put  him 
out.’ 

“It  is  remarkable  how  nearly,  in  all  things,  opposite 
extremes  are  allied,  and  how  they  succeed  each  other.  The 
style  I have  been  describing  was  followed  by  that  which 
sprung  out  of  the  Revolution,  when  David  and  his  contempo- 
raries exhibited  their  stern  and  heartless  petrifactions  of  men 
and  women, — with  trees,  rocks,  tables,  and  chairs,  all  equally 

1 Vagaries  like  these  were  practised  by  Madame  de  Pompadour  at 
the  Parc-aux-cerfs  to  amuse  Louis  XV.,  and  afterwards  by  Marie 
Antoinette  at  the  Petit  Trianon  to  amuse  herself. 

2 Watteau  reconciles  us  by  his  natural  grace  and  expression,  and 
his  exquisite  colour,  to  an  ideal  union  of  the  pastoral  and  the  fashion- 
able, and  to  which  he  alone  gives  an  air  of  probability.  The  manners 
he  painted  were  French,  but  his  art  is  essentially  Flemish,  being  founded 
on  Rubens,  whose  “ Garden  of  Love,”  no  doubt,  suggested  a class  of 
subjects  in  which  Watteau  has  excelled  all  other  painters.  Boucher 
is  Watteau  run  mad, — bereaved  of  his  taste  and  his  sense. 


Life  of  Constable 


276 

bound  to  the  ground  by  a relentless  outline,  and  destitute  of 
chiaroscuro,  the  soul  and  medium  of  art.” 

Constable  spoke  of  the  want  of  sense  in  David’s  large 
picture,  in  which  the  Romans  and  the  Sabines  are  about  to 
join  battle,  stark  naked,  but  with  helmets  on  their  heads, 
and  shields  and  spears  in  their  hands.  “What,”  he  said, 
“ would  be  the  impression  of  a spectator  of  such  a scene, 
but  that  he  saw  before  him  a number  of  savages  who  had 
accidentally  found  and  snatched  up  these  weapons  and 
accoutrements?  ” 

LECTURE  III 

June  gth 

“ I shall  consider  four  works  as  marking  four  memorable 
points  in  the  history  of  landscape,  and  all  by  historical 
painters.  The  ‘ Peter  Martyr  ’ by  Titian — ‘ The  Deluge  ’ 
by  Poussin — ‘ The  Rainbow  ’ by  Rubens — and  ‘ The  Mill  ’ 
by  Rembrandt.” 

Having  spoken  of  the  “ Peter  Martyr,”  Constable  showed 
an  engraving  of  the  “ Deluge,”  and  said,  “ Towards  the  end 
of  the  life  of  Nicolo  Poussin,  he  was  employed  by  Cardinal 
Richelieu  to  paint  four  pictures,  each  to  represent  a season. 
For  the  spring,  he  chose  the  terrestrial  Paradise;  for  the 
summer,  the  story  of  Boaz  and  Ruth ; for  the  autumn,  the 
two  Israelites  bearing  the  bunch  of  grapes  from  the  promised 
land  ; and  for  the  winter,  the  deluge.  This  picture, 
though  small,  and  with  little  contrast  of  light  and  shadow, 
and  almost  no  colour,  stands  as  much  alone  in  the  world  as 
the  ‘ Magdalen  ’ of  Correggio.  The  good  sense  of  Poussin, 
which  was  equal  to  his  genius,  taught  him  that  by  simplicity 
of  treatment,  the  most  awful  subjects  may  be  made  far  more 
affecting  than  by  overloading  them  with  imagery.  In 
painting  the  “ Deluge,”  he  has  not  allowed  his  imagination 
to  wander  from  the  Mosaic  account,  which  tells  us  of  rain 
only.1  Human  habitations,  rocks,  and  mountains  are 

1 Poussin  seems  to  have  reasoned  as  Coleridge  did,  who  said,  “ I 
think  it  absurd  to  attribute  so  much  to  the  deluge.  An  inundation, 
which  left  an  olive-tree  standing,  and  bore  up  the  ark  peacefully  on 
its  bosom,  could  scarcely  have  been  the  sole  cause  of  the  rents  and 
dislocations  observable  on  the  face  of  the  earth.” — Coleridge’s  Table 
Talk. 


Third  Lecture 


277 

gradually  disappearing,  as  the  water  rises  undisturbed  by 
earthquakes  or  tornadoes;  and  the  very  few  figures  intro- 
duced, interest  us  the  more  deeply  from  the  absence  of  all 
violence  or  contortion  of  gesture.  But  of  this  picture  Fuseli 
says  truly,  ‘ It  is  easier  to  feel  than  to  describe  its  powers. 
We  see  the  element  itself,  and  not  its  image.  Its  reign  is 
established,  and  by  calm  degrees  ingulfs  the  whole.  It 
mocks  the  food  it  feeds  on.  Its  lurid  haze  has  shorn  the 
sun  of  his  beams.  Hope  is  shut  out,  and  nature  expires ! 5 

“ By  the  Rainbow  of  Rubens,  I do  not  allude  to  a particular 
picture,  for  Rubens  often  introduced  it;  I mean,  indeed, 
more  than  the  rainbow  itself,  I mean  dewy  light  and  fresh- 
ness, the  departing  shower,  with  the  exhilaration  of  the 
returning  sun,  effects  which  Rubens,  more  than  any  other 
painter,  has  perfected  on  canvas.” — Constable  described  the 
large  picture  in  the  National  Gallery,  in  which  a fowler  is 
seen  watching  a covey  of  partridges,  as  a fine  specimen  of 
Rubens’  power  in  landscape,  and  lamented  that  it  was 
separated  from  its  companion,  “ which  had  doubtless  been 
painted  to  give  more  effect  to  it  by  contrast.”  He  said, 
“ When  pictures  painted  as  companions  are  separated,  the 
purchaser  of  one,  without  being  aware  of  it,  is  sometimes 
buying  only  half  a picture.  Companion  pictures  should 
never  be  parted,  unless  they  are  by  different  hands,  and  then, 
in  general  the  sooner  they  are  divorced  the  better. 

“ The  art  of  Rubens  and  Teniers 1 is  essentially  Flemish, 
and  though  it  is  usual  to  speak  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish 
schools  as  one,  they  are  no  more  so  than  are  the  Lombard 
and  Venetian  schools.  The  Dutch  art  is  more  influenced  by 
chiaroscuro,  the  Flemish  by  colour,  by  brightness,  and 
hilarity. 

“ Rembrandt’s  ‘ Mill  ’ 2 is  a picture  wholly  made  by 
chiaroscuro;  the  last  ray  of  light  just  gleams  on  the  upper 
sail  of  the  mill,  and  all  other  details  are  lost  in  large  and 
simple  masses  of  shade.  Chiaroscuro  is  the  great  feature 
that  characterises  his  art,  and  was  carried  farther  by  him 
than  by  any  other  painter,  not  excepting  Correggio.  But 

1 It  must  have  been  from  inadvertence  that  Constable  omitted  any 
further  mention  of  the  younger  Teniers,  whose  landscape  compositions 
form  a distinct  and  very  beautiful  class  of  art.  Had  these  lectures 
been  written,  a paragraph  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  devoted  to 
this  delightful  painter. 

* A windmill  on  an  eminence  overlooking  a stream. 


278  Life  of  Constable 

if  its  effects  are  somewhat  exaggerated  by  Rembrandt,  he 
is  always  so  impressive  that  we  can  no  more  find  fault  with 
his  style  than  we  can  with  the  giant  forms  of  Michael  Angelo. 
Succeeding  painters  have  sometimes,  in  their  admiration  of 
the  ‘ Mill,’  forgotten  that  Rembrandt  chose  the  twilight  to 
second  his  wishes,  and  have  fancied  that  to  obtain  equal 
breadth,  they  must  leave  out  the  details  of  nature  in  broad 
daylight;  this  is  the  danger  of  mistaken  imitation. 

“Chiaroscuro  is  by  no  means  confined  to  dark  pictures; 
the  works  of  Cuyp,  though  generally  light,  are  full  of  it.  It 
may  be  defined  as  that  power  which  creates  space ; we  find  it 
everywhere,  and  at  all  times  in  nature;  opposition,  union, 
light,  shade,  reflection,  and  refraction,  all  contribute  to  it.1 

1 All  effects  of  light  and  dark  are  but  modifications  of  reflection  and 
refraction,  with  the  exception  of  the  appearances  of  things  self-lumin- 
ous, as  fire,  the  sun,  etc.,  which  occasion  what  we  call  lights  on  other 
objects  by  being  reflected  from  or  refracted  through  their  surfaces; 
leaving,  where  such  reflections  or  refractions  are  interrupted  by  inter- 
vening bodies,  the  reflections  of  inferior  lights  from  other  objects, 
which  being  less  powerful  appear  as  shadows. 

It  has  been  said  that  water  receives  no  shadow;  but  this  is  either 
equally  true  of  all  other  bodies,  or  not  true  of  water,  which  is  un- 
doubtedly subject  to  effects  that  we  can  no  otherwise  describe  than 
by  the  word  shadow. — When,  for  instance,  the  sun  is  shining  on  the 
sea,  were  it  possible  that  the  water  could  be  as  smooth  as  a mirror, 
we  should  see  his  disc  exactly  reflected  and  once  only,  the  surface  of 
the  water  in  other  places  giving  an  inverted  image  of  the  sky;  but 
as  such  perfect  stillness  never  occurs,  the  light  of  the  sun  is  spread 
on  the  surface  by  innumerable  reflections  of  his  disc  from  the  waves 
and  refractions  through  them, — the  spaces  between  each  of  these 
lights  (as  we  call  them)  reflecting  the  sky, — where  again  the  upper 
parts  of  the  clouds  reflect  the  sun,  and  other  portions  the  blue  sky, 
or  the  sea.  The  blue  of  the  sky  is  occasioned  by  still  more  minute 
reflections  and  refractions  of  the  sun  from  particles  of  vapour  more 
subtle  than  those  that  compose  the  clouds,  and  but  for  which  in  place 
of  the  azure  there  would  be  a void  of  utter  darkness.  Where  clouds 
or  other  objects  intercept  the  reflections  of  the  sun  from  the  waves, 
the  reflection  of  the  sky  remains,  causing  those  patches  of  shadow 
which,  seen  from  a low  point,  stripe  the  sea  with  long  lines  of  blue. — 
The  effects  are  exactly  similar  on  a meadow;  the  light  of  the  sun  being 
reflected  from  or  refracted  through  every  blade  of  grass,  and  where 
intercepted  leaving  the  reflection  of  the  sky;  and  on  a road,  the  light 
is  spread  by  reflection  from  every  particle  of  sand,  gravel,  or  clay. — 
Again,  if  we  look  close  at  a polished  ball  of  metal  we  find  a picture  of 
every  surrounding  object,  and  this  at  a distance  forms  that  appearance 
of  light  and  shade  that  gives  it  rotundity  to  the  eye.  Let  the  ball 
be  dimmed  or  roughened  and  the  same  general  appearance  of  light 
and  dark  is  left, — equally,  though  not  so  palpably,  caused  by  reflection, 
the  forms  and  colours  of  the  objects  pictured  on  the  ball  being  more 
or  less  blended  as  its  surface  is  more  or  less  dimmed. 

Of  what  consequence,  it  may  be  said,  is  it  that  the  artist  should 
know  this  if  he  copy  faithfully  what  he  sees?  To  which  the  reply  is. 


Third  Lecture 


279 

By  this  power,  the  moment  we  come  into  a room,  we  see 
that  the  chairs  are  not  standing  on  the  tables,  but  a glance 
shows  us  the  relative  distances  of  all  the  objects  from  the 
eye,  though  the  darkest  or  the  lightest  may  be  the  farthest 
off — It  has  been  said  no  man  has  enough  of  certain  qualities 
that  has  them  not  in  excess,  so  Rembrandt,  of  whose  art 
chiaroscuro  is  the  essence,  certainly  carried  it  to  an  extreme. 
The  other  great  painters  of  the  Dutch  school  were  more 
artless;  so  apparently  unstudied,  indeed,  are  the  works  of 
many  of  them,  for  instance,  Jan  Steen  and  De  Hooge,  that 
they  seem  put  together  almost  without  thought;  yet  it 
would  be  impossible  to  alter  or  leave  out  the  smallest  object, 
or  to  change  any  part  of  their  light,  shade,  or  colour,  with- 
out injury  to  their  pictures,  — a proof  that  their  art  is 
consummate. 

“ The  landscapes  of  Ruysdael  present  the  greatest  possible 
contrast  to  those  of  Claude,  showing  how  powerfully,  from 

that  it  may  enable  him  to  see  better  what  he  copies. — All  good  colour- 
ists have,  no  doubt,  recognised  the  results  I have  spoken  of  in  nature 
whether  or  not  they  investigated  the  principle, — and  the  purity  and 
evanescence  of  their  colouring  has  been  in  proportion  to  their  percep- 
tion of  these  results.  Paul  Veronese  saw  nature  thus  with  a truer 
eye  than  did  Rubens,  and  a perfect  sense  of  the  influence  of  reflections 
constitutes  that  extraordinary  charm  in  the  works  of  De  Hooge  which 
we  scarcely  find  elsewhere,  on  canvas,  excepting  in  the  best  pictures 
of  Claude. — An  investigation  of  these  principles  will  protect  the  young 
artist  from  the  danger  of  many  unfounded  aphorisms  that  he  is  likely 
to  hear  from  his  elders,  and  meet  with  in  books,  as  that  shadow  is 
colourless — that  lights  should  be  warm  and  shadows  cool , or  shadows 
warm  and  lights  cool,  etc.  A knowledge  of  these  laws  will  explain, 
what  his  eye  will  soon  perceive,  that  the  tones  both  of  lights  and 
shades  are  infinitely  varied  according  to  circumstances; — that  as 
perspective  alters  every  line  to  the  eye,  so  reflection  and  refraction 
change  more  or  less  every  colour, — harmonising  the  crude  and  giving 
variety  to  the  monotonous; — and  that  shadow,  as  far  as  regards 
painting,  can  never  be  colourless,  for  it  is  never  solely  the  result  of 
the  absence  of  light  excepting  in  situations  with  which  the  painter 
can  have  nothing  to  do,  the  interior,  for  instance,  of  a cave  to  which 
every  opening  is  closed. 

I am  glad  to  be  able,  in  support  of  these  conclusions,  to  quote  so 
high  an  authority  as  that  of  my  friend  Mr.  George  Field,  whose  valu- 
able works  on  the  philosophy  of  colour  are  known  to  most  artists, 
and  should  be  to  all.  In  his  Chromatography  Mr.  Field  says) 
“ Colour,  and  what  in  painting  is  called  transparency,  belong  princi- 
pally to  shade;  and  the  judgment  of  great  authorities  by  which  they 
have  been  attached  to  light  as  its  properties  merely,  has  led  to  error 
in  an  art  to  which  colour  is  pre-eminently  appropriate;  hence  the 
painter  has  considered  colour  in  his  practice  as  belonging  to  light  only, 
and  hence  many  have  employed  a uniform  shade  tint,  regarding 
shadows  only  as  darkness,  blackness,  or  the  mere  absence  of  light, 
when  in  truth  shadows  are  infinitely  varied  by  colour.” 


280 


Life  of  Constable 


the  most  opposite  directions,  genius  may  command  our 
homage.  In  Claude’s  pictures,  with  scarcely  an  exception 
the  sun  ever  shines.  Ruysdael,  on  the  contrary,  delighte  d 
in,  and  has  made  delightful  to  our  eyes,  those  solemn  days, 
peculiar  to  his  country  and  to  ours,  when  without  storm, 
large  rolling  clouds  scarcely  permit  a ray  of  sunlight  to  break 
the  shades  of  the  forest.  By  these  effects  he  enveloped  the 
most  ordinary  scenes  of  grandeur,  and  whenever  he  has 
attempted  marine  subjects,  he  is  far  beyond  Vandervelde.” 

Constable  showed  a copy  of  a picture  of  this  class  by 
Ruysdael.  “ The  subject,”  he  continued,  “ is  the  mouth  of 
a Dutch  river,  without  a single  feature  of  grandeur  in  the 
scenery;  but  the  stormy  sky,  the  grouping  of  the  vessels,  and 
the  breaking  of  the  sea,  make  the  picture  one  of  the  most 
impressive  ever  painted. 

1 It  is  the  Soul  that  sees;  the  outward  eyes 
Present  the  object,  but  the  Mind  descries.’ 

We  see  nothing  truly  till  we  understand  it.  An  ordinary 
spectator  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  which  Ruysdael  has 
here  painted,  would  scarcely  be  conscious  of  the  existence 
of  many  of  the  objects  that  conduce  to  the  effect  of  the 
picture;  certainly  not  of  their  fitness  for  pictorial  effect. 

Constable  pointed  to  a copy  of  a small  evening  winter- 
piece  by  Ruysdael.  “ This  picture,”  he  said,  “ represents  an 
approaching  thaw.  The  ground  is  covered  with  snow,  and 
the  trees  are  still  white ; but  there  are  two  windmills  near  the 
centre;  the  one  has  the  sails  furled,  and  is  turned  in  the 
position  from  which  the  wind  blew  when  the  mill  left  off 
work,  the  other  has  the  canvas  on  the  poles,  and  is  turned 
another  way,  which  indicates  a change  in  the  wind;  the 
clouds  are  opening  in  that  direction,  which  appears  by  the 
glow  in  the  sky  to  be  the  south  (the  sun’s  winter  habitation  in 
our  hemisphere),  and  this  change  will  produce  a thaw  before 
the  morning.  The  occurrence  of  these  circumstances  shows 
that  Ruysdael  understood  what  he  was  painting.  He  has 
here  told  a story;  but  in  another  instance  he  failed,  because 
he  attempted  to  tell  that  which  is  out  of  the  reach  of  the  art. 
In  a picture  which  was  known,  while  he  was  living,  to  be 
called  ‘ An  Allegory  of  the  Life  of  Man  ’ (and  it  may  there- 
fore be  supposed  he  so  intended  it) — there  are  ruins  to  indi- 
cate old  age,  a stream  to  signify  the  course  of  life,  and  rocks 


Fourth  Lecture  281 

and  precipices  to  shadow  forth  its  dangers; — but  how  are  we 
to  discover  all  this  ? 

“ The  Dutch  painters  were  a stay-at-home  people, — hence 
their  originality.  They  were  not,  however,  ignorant  of 
Italian  art.  Rembrandt  had  a large  collection  of  Italian 
pictures  and  engravings,  and  Fuseli  calls  the  school  of  the 
Bassans  the  ‘ Venetian  prelude  to  the  Dutch  school.’  We 
derive  the  pleasure  of  surprise  from  the  works  of  the  best 
Dutch  painters  in  finding  how  much  interest  the  art,  when 
in  perfection,  can  give  to  the  most  ordinary  subjects.  Those 
are  cold  critics  who  turn  from  their  works,  and  wish  the 
same  skill  had  been  rendered  a vehicle  for  more  elevated 
stories.  They  do  not  in  reality  feel  how  much  the  Dutch 
painters  have  given  to  the  world,  who  wish  for  more;  and 
it  may  always  be  doubted  whether  those  who  do  not  relish 
the  works  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  schools,  whatever 
raptures  they  may  affect,  in  speaking  of  the  schools  of  Italy, 
are  capable  of  fully  appreciating  the  latter;  for  a true  taste 
is  never  a half  taste.  Whatever  story  the  best  painters  of 
Holland  and  Flanders  undertook  to  tell,  is  told  with  an  un- 
affected truth  of  expression  that  may  afford  useful  lessons 
in  the  treatment  of  the  most  sublime  subjects;  and  those 
who  would  deny  them  poetic  feeling,  forget  that  chiaroscuro, 
colour,  and  composition,  are  all  poetic  qualities.  Poetry  is 
not  denied  to  Rembrandt,  or  to  Rubens,  because  their  effects 
are  striking.  It  does  not,  however,  the  less  exist  in  the  works 
of  many  other  painters  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  schools 
who  were  less  daring  in  their  style.” 


LECTURE  IV 

June  16th 

Of  Constable’s  fourth  lecture,  I regret  to  find  that  even  less 
is  preserved  than  of  the  preceding  ones.  He  recapitulated 
the  history  of  landscape  since  the  revival  of  the  arts,  com- 
prising a space  of  about  six  hundred  years,  Titian’s  “ Peter 
Martyr  ” forming  a central  epoch. 

He  showed  engravings  from  Patel  of  imitations  of  Claude, 
and  from  Verne t of  imitations  of  Salvator  Rosa,  and  pointed 
out  the  inferiority. 


282 


Life  of  Constable 

“ The  absurdity  of  imitation/’  he  remarked,  “ is  nowhere 
so  striking  as  in  the  landscapes  of  the  English  Wooton,  who 
painted  country  gentlemen  in  their  wigs  and  jockey  caps,  and 
top-boots,  with  packs  of  hounds,  and  placed  them  in  Italian 
landscapes  resembling  those  of  Gaspar  Poussin,  except  in 
truth  and  force.  Lambert,  another  English  imitator  of 
Italian  art,  but  even  below  Wooton,  is  now  remembered  only 
as  the  founder  of  the  ‘ Beef  Steak  Club.’ 

“ The  art  of  painting  was  in  all  its  branches  in  the  most 
degraded  state,  not  only  in  England  but  throughout  Europe, 
when  Hogarth  and  Reynolds  appeared,  and  thought  and 
studied  for  themselves.  Burke  has  said  that  Reynolds  ‘ was 
the  first  Englishman  who  added  the  praise  of  the  elegant  arts 
to  the  other  glories  of  this  country.’  But  he  forgot  that 
Hogarth  was  born  twenty-six  years  before  Sir  Joshua,  and 
had  published  his  engravings  of  the  * Harlot’s  Progress  ’ 
when  Reynolds  was  but  eleven  years  old;  or  it  may  be  he 
was  influenced  by  the  common  opinion  of  that  time  which 
we  find  echoed  by  Walpole,  that  Hogarth  was  no  painter. 
It  is,  however,  to  Reynolds  that  the  honour  of  establishing 
the  English  school  belongs.  Hogarth  had  no  school,  nor  has 
he  ever  been  imitated  with  any  tolerable  success.” 

Among  the  engravings  Constable  exhibited  at  this  lecture, 
he  placed  Sir  Joshua’s  lovely  group  of  the  three  Ladies 
Waldegrave  under  the  Ugolino,  and  remarked,  “ how  great 
must  be  the  range  of  his  genius,  who  could  fill  the  space  of 
art  included  between  two  such  subjects;  Romney,  when 
some  of  his  friends  thought  to  please  him  by  disparaging 
Reynolds,  said,  £ No,  no,  he  is  the  greatest  painter  that  ever 
lived,  for  I see  an  exquisite  beauty  in  his  pictures  which  I see 
in  nature,  but  not  in  the  works  of  any  other  painter.’  1 
“ To  Wilson,  who  was  ten  years  the  senior  of  Reynolds, 
may  justly  be  given  the  praise  of  opening  the  way  to  the 
genuine  principles  of  Landscape  in  England;  he  appeared  at 
a time  when  this  art,  not  only  here,  but  on  the  Continent, 
was  altogether  in  the  hands  of  the  mannerists.2  It  was  in 

1 This  is  true,  in  a greater  or  less  degree,  as  Constable  has  himself 
remarked  in  the  first  of  this  course  of  lectures,  of  every  original  painter; 
indeed  it  is  evident  that  this  is  the  only  test  of  originality. 

2 The  biographers  of  Wilson  attribute  his  leaving  portraiture  for 
landscape,  to  the  suggestion  of  one  of  these  mannerists,  Zuccherelli; 
and  of  his  obligations  to  another,  Allan  Cunningham  gives  this  account. 
“ One  day,  while  sitting  in  Wilson’s  painting-room,  Vernet  was  so 
struck  with  the  peculiar  beauty  of  a newly-finished  landscape  that  he 


Fourth  Lecture  283 

Italy  that  he  first  became  acquainted  with  his  own  powers; 
and  no  doubt  the  influence  of  the  works  of  Claude  and  the 
Poussins  enabled  him  to  make  the  discovery.  But  he  looked 
at  nature  entirely  for  himself,  and  remaining  free  from  any 
tincture  of  the  styles  that  prevailed  among  the  living  artists, 
both  abroad  and  at  home,  he  was  almost  wholly  excluded 
from  any  share  of  the  patronage  which  was  liberally  bestowed 
on  his  contemporaries.  Barrett,  and  the  Smiths  of  Chi- 
chester, whose  names  are  now  nearly  forgotten,  accumulated 
wealth  while  Wilson  might  have  starved  had  he  not  been 
appointed  librarian  to  the  Royal  Academy.  Stothard  used 
to  relate  an  anecdote  of  Wilson  which  showed  how  much  he 
was  disposed  to  turn  to  nature  even  in  the  midst  of  art. 
Stothard,  when  a student,  asked  Wilson  in  the  library,  to 
recommend  something  for  him  to  copy.  Wilson  at  the 
moment  was  standing  at  one  of  the  windows,  which,  as  the 
quadrangle  of  Somerset  House  was  then  unfinished,  com- 
manded a fine  view  of  the  river.  ‘ There,’  said  the  librarian 
pointing  to  the  animated  scene,  ‘ is  something  for  you  to 
copy.’ 

“ The  landscape  of  Gainsborough  is  soothing,  tender,  and 
affecting.  The  stillness  of  noon,  the  depths  of  twilight,  and 
the  dews  and  pearls  of  the  morning,  are  all  to  be  found  on 
the  canvases  of  this  most  benevolent  and  kind-hearted  man. 
On  looking  at  them,  we  find  tears  in  our  eyes,  and  know  not 
what  brings  them.  The  lonely  haunts  of  the  solitary  shep- 
herd,—the  return  of  the  rustic  with  his  bill  and  bundle  of 
wood, — the  darksome  lane  or  dell, — the  sweet  little  cottage 
girl  at  the  spring  with  her  pitcher, — were  the  things  he 
delighted  to  paint,  and  which  he  painted  with  exquisite 
refinement,  yet  not  a refinement  beyond  nature.  Gains- 
borough has  been  compared  to  Murillo  by  those  who  cannot 
distinguish  between  the  subject  and  the  art.  Like  Murillo 
he  painted  the  peasantry  of  his  country,  but  here  the  resem- 
blance ceases.  His  taste  was  in  all  respects  greatly  superior 
to  that  of  the  Spanish  painter.” 

desired  to  become  its  proprietor,  and  offered  in  exchange  one  of  his 
best  pictures.  This  was  much  to  the  gratification  of  the  other;  the 
exchange  was  made,  and,  with  a liberality  equally  rare  and  com- 
mendable, Vemet  placed  his  friend’s  picture  in  his  exhibition  room 
and  when  his  own  productions  happened  to  be  praised  or  purchased 
by  English  travellers,  the  generous  Frenchman  used  to  say,  ‘ Don’t 
talk  of  my  landscapes  alone  when  your  own  countrvman  Wilson  paints 
so  beautifully.’  ” 


284  Life  of  Constable 

Constable  spoke  of  Cozens  and  Girtin  as  possessing  genius 
of  the  very  highest  order,  though  their  works  being  com- 
paratively few  and  in  water  colours  chiefly,  they  are  less 
known  than  they  deserve  to  be. 

“West  showed  great  ability  in  the  composition  of  land- 
scape, which  he  sometimes  practised  for  itself,  with  figures 
entirely  subordinate.  His  picture  of  the  reception  of  Tele- 
machus  and  Mentor  by  Calypso  after  their  shipwreck,  is  an 
extremely  beautiful  combination  of  landscape  and  figures.” 
Constable  exhibited  a fine  engraving  of  this  picture,  begun 
by  Woollett,  and  finished  by  Pye. 

“ As  your  kind  attention,”  he  said,  “ has  so  long  been 
given  to  my  description  of  pictures,  it  may  now  be  well  to 
consider  in  what  estimation  we  are  to  hold  them,  and  in  what 
class  we  are  to  place  the  men  who  have  produced  them. — It 
appears  to  me  that  pictures  have  been  over-valued ; held  up 
by  a blind  admiration  as  ideal  things,  and  almost  as  standards 
by  which  nature  is  to  be  judged  rather  than  the  reverse;  and 
this  false  estimate  has  been  sanctioned  by  the  extravagant 
epithets  that  have  been  applied  to  painters,  as  ‘ the  divine/ 
‘ the  inspired/  and  so  forth.1  Yet,  in  reality,  what  are  the 
most  sublime  productions  of  the  pencil  but  selections  of  some 
of  the  forms  of  nature,  and  copies  of  a few  of  her  evanescent 
effects;  and  this  is  the  result,  not  of  inspiration,  but  of  long 
and  patient  study,  under  the  direction  of  much  good  sense. — 
It  was  said  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  that  ‘ we  can  never 
hope  to  compete  with  nature  in  the  beauty  and  delicacy  of 
her  separate  forms  or  colours, — our  only  chance  lies  in  selec- 
tion and  combination.’  Nothing  can  be  more  true, — and  it 
may  be  added,  that  selection  and  combination  are  learned 
from  nature  herself,  who  constantly  presents  us  with  com- 
positions of  her  own,  far  more  beautiful  than  the  happiest 

1 “ To  say  the  truth,  men  do  not  appear  to  know  their  own  stock 
and  abilities,  but  fancy  their  possessions  greater,  and  their  faculties 
less,  than  they  are;  whence  either  valuing  the  received  arts  above 
measure,  they  look  out  no  farther;  or  else  despising  themselves  too 
much,  they  exercise  their  talents  upon  lighter  matters,  without  attempt- 
ing the  capital  things  of  all.  And  hence  the  sciences  come  to  be 
considered  as  Hercules’  Pillars,  which  are  to  bound  the  desires  and 
hopes  of  mankind.  But  as  a false  imagination  of  plenty  comes  among 
the  principal  causes  of  want,  and  as  too  great  a confidence  in  things 
present  leads  to  a neglect  of  future  assistance,  it  is  necessary  that  we 
here  admonish  mankind  that  they  do  not  too  highly  value  or  extol 
either  the  number  or  usefulness  of  the  things  hitherto  discovered.” — 
Lord  Bacon. 


Last  Lecture 


285 

arranged  by  human  skill.  I have  endeavoured  to  draw  a 
line  between  genuine  art  and  mannerism,  but  even  the 
greatest  painters  have  never  been  wholly  untainted  by 
manner. — Painting  is  a science,  and  should  be  pursued  as 
an  inquiry  into  the  laws  of  nature.  Why,  then,  may  not 
landscape  painting  be  considered  as  a branch  of  natural 
philosophy,  of  which  pictures  are  but  the  experiments?  ” 1 
Constable  thanked  his  audience  for  the  attention  with 
which  they  had  listened  to  him,  and  said,  “ I cannot  better 
take  my  leave  of  you  than  in  the  words  of  my  friend,  Arch- 
deacon Fisher,  who,  in  an  address  to  the  clergy,  on  one  of  his 
visitations  said,  ‘ In  my  present  perplexity,  the  recollection 
comes  to  my  relief  that  when  any  man  has  given  an  undi- 
vided attention  to  any  one  subject,  his  audience  willingly 
yield  him  for  his  hour  the  chair  of  instruction ; he  discharges 
his  mind  of  its  conceptions,  and  descends  from  his  temporary 
elevation  to  be  instructed  in  his  turn  by  other  men.’  ” 


LAST  LECTURE  DELIVERED  BY  CONSTABLE 

On  the  25th  July  1836,  Constable  delivered  a lecture  before 
the  Literary  and  Scientific  Institution  at  Hampstead,  on 
the  subject  of  Landscape  generally. 

In  adding  the  notes  I took  on  this  occasion  to  the  remain- 
ing memoranda  preserved  among  his  papers,  I shall  omit 
passages  in  which  he  repeated  parts  of  his  previous  lectures. 

He  began  by  saying,  “ The  difference  between  the  judg- 
ments pronounced  by  men  who  have  given  their  lives  to  a 
particular  study,  and  by  those  who  have  attended  to  that 
study  as  the  amusement  only  of  a few  leisure  hours,  may  be 
thus  illustrated.  I will  imagine  two  dishes,  the  one  of  gold, 
the  other  of  wood.  The  golden  dish  is  filled  with  diamonds, 
rubies,  and  emeralds, — and  chains,  rings,  and  brooches  of 
gold;  while  the  other  contains  shell-fish,  stones,  and  earths. 

1 Turnbull,  whose  folio  on  ancient  painting  Hogarth  sent  to  the 
trunk-maker  with  less  justice  than  the  9999th  volume  of  Politics, 
which  he  placed  in  the  same  hamper  with  it,  considers  landscape 
painting  as  belonging  to  natural  philosophy,  and  historical  painting 
to  moral  philosophy.  But  Constable  was  not  acquainted  with  Turn- 
bull’s  work  when  this  lecture  was  delivered.  He  first  saw  it  at  my 
house  in  January  1837. 


286 


Life  of  Constable 

These  dishes  are  offered  to  the  world,  who  choose  the  first; 
but  it  is  afterwards  discovered  that  the  dish  itself  is  but 
copper  gilt,  the  diamonds  are  paste,  the  rubies  and  emeralds 
painted  glass,  and  the  chains,  rings,  etc.  counterfeit.  In  the 
meantime,  the  naturalist  has  taken  the  wooden  dish,  for  he 
knows  that  the  shell-fish  are  pearl  oysters  and  he  sees  that 
among  the  stones  are  gems,  and  mixed  with  the  earths  are 
the  ores  of  the  precious  metals. 

“ The  decline  of  painting,  in  every  age  and  country,  after 
arriving  at  excellence,  has  been  attributed  by  writers  who 
have  not  been  artists  to  every  cause  but  the  true  one.  The 
first  impression  and  a natural  one  is,  that  the  fine  arts  have 
risen  or  declined  in  proportion  as  patronage  has  been  given 
to  them  or  withdrawn,  but  it  will  be  found  that  there  has 
often  been  more  money  lavished  on  them  in  their  worst 
periods  than  in  their  best,  and  that  the  highest  honours 
have  frequently  been  bestowed  on  artists  whose  names  are 
scarcely  now  known.  Whenever  the  arts  have  not  been 
upheld  by  the  good  sense  of  their  professors,' patronage  and 
honours  so  far  from  checking  their  downward  course,  must 
inevitably  accelerate  it. 

“ The  attempt  to  revive  styles  that  have  existed  in  former 
ages  may  for  a time  appear  to  be  successful,  but  experience 
may  now  surely  teach  us  its  impossibility.  I might  put  on  a 
suit  of  Claude  Lorraine’s  clothes  and  walk  into  the  street,  and 
the  many  who  know  Claude  but  slightly  would  pull  off  their 
hats  to  me,  but  I should  at  last  meet  with  some  one  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  him,  who  would  expose  me  to 
the  contempt  I merited.1 

“It  is  thus  in  all  the  fine  arts.  A new  Gothic  building, 
or  a new  missal,  is  in  reality  little  less  absurd  than  a new  ruin. 
The  Gothic  architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting,  belong  to 
peculiar  ages.  The  feelings  that  guided  their  inventors  are 
unknown  to  us,  we  contemplate  them  with  associations, 
many  of  which,  however  vague  and  dim,  have  a strong  hold 
on  our  imaginations,  and  we  feel  indignant  at  the  attempt  to 
cheat  us  by  any  modem  mimicry  of  their  peculiarities.2 

1 Archdeacon  Fisher,  in  one  of  his  letters  that  has  not  been  printed, 
says,  “ I have  just  met  with  the  following  observation  in  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  ‘ One  painter  ought  never  to  imitate  the  manner  of  any  other, 
because  in  that  case  he  cannot  be  called  the  child  of  nature,  but  the 
grand-child.’  ” — Constable  sometimes  called  imitators  “ Poachers  on 
other  men’s  grounds.” 

2 See  Fisher’s  letter  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  Constable,  page  148. 


Last  Lecture 


287 

“It  is  to  be  lamented  that  the  tendency  of  taste  is  at 
present  too  much  towards  this  kind  of  imitation,  which,  as 
long  as  it  lasts,  can  only  act  as  a blight  on  art,  by  engaging 
talents  that  might  have  stamped  the  Age  with  a character 
of  its  own,  in  the  vain  endeavour  to  reanimate  deceased  Art, 
in  which  the  utmost  that  can  be  accomplished  will  be  to 
reproduce  a body  without  a soul.1 

“ Attempts  at  the  union  of  uncongenial  qualities  in 
different  styles  of  Art  have  also  contributed  to  its  decline/’ 
In  illustration  of  this,  Constable  showed  a print  from  Vernet, 
the  trees  of  which  were  in  a mannered  imitation  of  Salvator 
Rosa,  without  his  nature  and  wildness,  while  the  rocks  were 
in  the  artificial  style  of  Berghem.  “ In  the  foreground,” 
he  said,  “ you  will  perceive  an  emaciated  French  dancing 
master,  in  a dress  something  like  one  of  Salvator’s  banditti, 
but  intended  by  Vernet  for  a fisherman.  It  is  thus  the  art 
is  deteriorated  by  the  mannerists  who  employ  themselves  in 
sweeping  up  the  painting-rooms  of  preceding  ages.  Imitators 
always  render  the  defects  of  their  model  more  conspicuous. 
Sir  George  Beaumont,  on  seeing  a large  picture  by  a modern 
artist,  intended  to  be  in  the  style  of  Claude,  said,  ‘ I never 
could  have  believed  that  Claude  Lorraine  had  so  many  faults, 
if  I had  not  seen  them  all  collected  together  on  this  canvas.’ 
It  is  useful,  therefore,  to  a painter  to  have  imitators,  as  they 
will  teach  him  to  avoid  everything  they  do. 

“ The  young  painter,  who,  regardless  of  present  popularity, 
would  leave  a name  behind  him  must  become  the  patient 
pupil  of  nature.  If  we  refer  to  the  lives  of  all  who  have 
distinguished  themselves  in  art  or  science,  we  shall  find  they 
have  always  been  laborious.  The  landscape  painter  must 
walk  in  the  fields  with  an  humble  mind.  No  arrogant  man 
was  ever  permitted  to  see  nature  in  all  her  beauty.  If  I may 
be  allowed  to  use  a very  solemn  quotation,  I would  say  most 
emphatically  to  the  student,  { Remember  now  thy  Creator 
in  the  days  of  thy  youth.’  The  friends  of  a young  artist 
should  not  look  or  hope  for  precocity.  It  is  often  disease 

1 Nine  years  have  elapsed  since  these  observations  were  made  and 
the  tendency  of  taste  is  still  more  confirmed  in  the  direction  of  which 
Constable  speaks.  The  present  age,  distinguished  as  it  is  by  the 
advance  of  the  other  sciences,  has  become,  in  all  that  relates  to  paint- 
ing, sculpture,  and  architecture,  little  else  than  an  antiquarian  age. 
— It  is  well,  in  all  things,  as  we  go  on,  to  look  behind  us, — but  what 
advance  can  we  hope  to  make  with  our  faces  constantly  turned  back- 
wards? 


288 


Life  of  Constable 

only.  Quintilian  makes  use  of  a beautiful  simile  in  speaking 
of  precocious  talent.  He  compares  it  to  the  forward  ear  of 
corn  that  turns  yellow  and  dies  before  the  harvest.  Preco- 
city often  leads  to  criticism, — sharp,  and  severe  as  the  feel- 
ings are  morbid  from  ill  health.  Lord  Bacon  says,  ‘ when  a 
young  man  becomes  a critic,  he  will  find  much  for  his  amuse- 
ment, little  for  his  instruction.’  The  young  artist  must 
receive  with  deference  the  advice  of  his  elders,  not  hastily 
questioning  what  he  does  not  yet  understand,  otherwise  his 
maturity  will  bear  no  fruit.  The  art  of  seeing  nature  is  a 
thing  almost  as  much  to  be  acquired  as  the  art  of  reading 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  The  Chinese  have  painted  for 
two  thousand  years,  and  have  not  discovered  that  there  is 
such  a thing  as  chiaroscuro.1 

Constable  then  gave  some  practical  rules  for  drawing  from 
nature,  and  showed  some  beautiful  studies  of  trees.  One,  a 
tall  and  elegant  ash,  of  which  he  said  “ many  of  my  Hamp- 
stead friends  may  remember  this  young  lady  at  the  entrance 
to  the  village.  Her  fate  was  distressing,  for  it  is  scarcely  too 
much  to  say  that  she  died  of  a broken  heart.  I made  this 
drawing  when  she  was  in  full  health  and  beauty;  on  passing 
some  time  afterwards,  I saw,  to  my  grief,  that  a wretched 
board  had  been  nailed  to  her  side,  on  which  was  written  in 
large  letters,  ‘ All  vagrants  and  beggars  will  be  dealt  with 
according  to  laiv .’  The  tree  seemed  to  have  felt  the  disgrace, 
for  even  then  some  of  the  top  branches  had  withered.  Two 
long  spike  nails  had  been  driven  far  into  her  side.  In  another 
year  one  half  became  paralysed,  and  not  long  after  the  other 
shared  the  same  fate,  and  this  beautiful  creature  was  cut 
down  to  a stump,  just  high  enough  to  hold  the  board.” 

Constable  exhibited  an  outline  of  the  principal  figure  in 
Fuseli’s  “ Lazar  house,”  and  showed  that  the  swellings  and 
depressions  in  the  outline  of  a figure  in  fine  action  never  occur 
exactly  on  the  opposite  sides,  and  the  same,  he  said,  would  be 
found  true  of  trees  when  healthy. 

He  quoted  from  Thomson’s  Seasons  the  sixteen  intro- 

1 Some  of  the  Chinese  painters  have  lately  produced  pictures  with 
powerful  effects  of  light  and  shade,  in  imitation  of  European  art. 
Specimens  of  this  kind  may  be  seen  in  the  splendid  Chinese  Museum, 
lately  opened.  Still  they  are  but  imitations  of  art,  and  are  black, 
heavy  and  cold;  and  destitute  of  the  real  charm  of  chiaroscuro. 
Indeed  the  earlier  works  of  the  Chinese,  in  which  light  and  shade  are 
not  thought  of,  are  more  agreeable. 


Last  Lecture 


289 

ductory  lines  to  the  “ Winter  ” as  a beautiful  instance  of  the 
poet  identifying  his  own  feelings  with  external  nature.  He 
noticed  also  Milton’s  love  of  landscape,  and  how  often  in  his 
poems  the  most  simple  imagery  is  mingled  with  the  most 
sublime.  “ Thus  he  has  compared  the  army  of  the  Cheru- 
bim attendant  on  the  Archangel,  while  conducting  our  first 
parents  from  Paradise,  to  an  evening  mist. 

‘ The  Archangel  stood,  and  from  the  other  hill 
To  their  fix’d  station,  all  in  bright  array 
The  Cherubim  descended;  on  the  ground. 

Gliding  meteorous,  as  evening  mist 
Ris’n  from  a river  o’er  the  marish  glides, 

And  gathers  ground  fast  at  the  lab’rer’s  heel, 

Homeward  returning.’ 

Introducing  the  homely  incident  of  the  labourer’s  return,  and 
calling  up  all  the  rustic  fireside  associations  connected  with  it 
in  the  midst  of  a description  of  the  host  of  Heaven. 

“ There  has,”  said  Constable,  “ never  been  an  age,  how- 
ever rude  or  uncultivated,  in  which  the  love  of  landscape  has 
not  in  some  way  been  manifested.  And  how  could  it  be 
otherwise?  for  man  is  the  sole  intellectual  inhabitant  of  one 
vast  natural  landscape.  His  nature  is  congenial  with  the 
elements  of  the  planet  itself,  and  he  cannot  but  sympathise 
with  its  features,  its  various  aspects,  and  its  phenomena  in 
all  situations.  How  beautifully  has  Milton  described  the 
emotions  of  Adam  in  the  full  maturity  of  mind  and  percep- 
tion, his  eyes  opening  for  the  first  time  on  the  wonders  of  the 
animate  and  inanimate  world: 

* Straight  toward  Heav’n  my  wond’ring  eyes  I turn’d 
And  gaz’d  awhile  the  ample  Sky,  . . . 

About  me  round  I saw 

Hill,  Dale,  and  shady  Woods,  and  sunny  Plains, 

And  liquid  lapse  of  murm’ring  streams;  by  these 
Creatures  that  liv’d  and  mov’d,  and  walk’d,  or  flew. 

Birds  on  the  branches  warbling;  all  things  smil’d 
With  fragrance,  and  with  joy  my  heart  o’erflow’d; 

....  Thou  Sun,  said  I,  fair  light, 

And  thou  enlighten’d  Earth,  so  fresh  and  gay, 

Ye  Hills  and  Dales,  ye  Rivers,  Woods,  and  Plains, 

And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  Creatures,  tell. 

Tell  if  ye  saw,  how  came  I thus,  how  here?  ’ 

“ ‘ When  I behold,’  says  Martin  Luther,  ‘ the  beautiful 
azure  vault  of  Heaven,  besprinkled  with  constellations  of 
shining  orbs,  the  prospect  fills  my  mind,  and  I feel  the  highest 
gratification  at  such  a glorious  display  of  Omnipotence. 

T 


290  Life  of  Constable 

Melancthon  wishes  to  know  where  are  the  pillars  that 
support  this  magnificent  arch.’ 

“At  a time  when  Europe  was  agitated  in  an  unusual 
manner;  when  all  was  diplomacy,  all  was  politics,  Machia- 
vellian and  perfidious;  Cardinal  Bembo  wrote  thus  to  the 
Pope,  who  had  been  crowning  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  at 
Bologna.  ‘ While  your  Holiness  has  been  these  last  days  on 
the  theatre  of  the  world,  among  so  many  lords  and  great 
men,  whom  none  now  alive  have  ever  seen  together  before, 
and  has  placed  on  the  head  of  Charles  V.  the  rich,  splendid, 
and  honoured  crown  of  the  Empire,  I have  been  residing  in 
my  little  village,  where  I have  thought  on  you  in  a quiet, 
and,  to  me,  dear  and  delicious  solitude.  I have  found  the 
country  above  the  usage  of  any  former  years,  from  the  long 
serenity  of  these  gliding  months,  and  by  the  sudden  mildness 
of  the  air,  already  quite  verdant,  and  the  trees  in  full  leaf. 
Even  the  vines  have  deceived  the  peasantry  by  their  luxuri- 
ance, which  they  were  obliged  to  prune.  I do  not  remember 
to  have  seen  at  this  time  so  beautiful  a season.  Not  only 
the  swallows,  but  all  other  birds  that  do  not  remain  with  us 
in  the  winter,  but  return  to  us  in  the  spring,  have  made  this 
new,  and  soft,  and  joyous  sky  resound  with  their  charming 
melodies. — I could  not  therefore  regret  your  festivities  at 
Bologna.  Padua,  April  7th,  1530.’ 

“ Of  the  good  Bishop  Andrews  it  is  related  by  Fuller, 
1 that  he  would  often  profess  that  to  observe  the  trees — 
earth — corn — grass — water, — hearing  any  of  the  creatures, — 
and  to  contemplate  their  qualities — natures — and  uses — was 
ever  to  him  the  greatest  recreation — content — and  mirth — 
that  could  be.’ 

“ Paley  observed  of  himself,  that  ‘ the  happiest  hours  of  a 
sufficiently  happy  life  were  passed  by  the  side  of  a stream;  ’ 
and  I am  greatly  mistaken  if  every  landscape  painter  will  not 
acknowledge  that  his  most  serene  hours  have  been  spent  in 
the  open  air,  with  his  palette  on  his  hand.  ‘ It  is  a great 
happiness,’  says  Bacon,  ‘ when  men’s  professions  and  their 
inclinations  accord.’  ” 

From  these  outlines  but  a faint  impression  can  be  formed 
of  Constable’s  lectures,  as  he  delivered  them,  and  in  rooms 
of  which  one  side  was  covered  with  pictures  and  prints  to 
which  he  constantly  referred.  Many  of  his  happiest  turns 


Conclusion 


291 

of  expression  were  not  to  be  found  in  his  own  notes;  they 
arose  at  the  moment,  and  were  not  to  be  recalled  by  a 
reporter  unskilled  in  shorthand; — neither  can  the  charm  of 
a most  agreeable  voice  (though  pitched  somewhat  too  low), 
the  beautiful  manner  in  which  he  read  the  quotations, 
whether  of  prose  or  poetry,  or  the  play  of  his  very  expressive 
countenance,  be  conveyed  to  the  reader  by  words. 


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INDEX 


Aberdeen,  Earl  of,  36,  159 
Abingdon,  70 
Adelaide,  Queen,  169 
Agostino,  Tassi,  263 
Albano,  Francesco,  260,  266,  270 
Allen,  Lieutenant,  49  51 

Allnutt,  J.,  40-2 
Angerstein,  Mr.,  71,  115 
Appleton,  Mr.,  no 
Aretino,  Peitro,  270 
Arnott,  Miss,  131 
Arrowsmith,  Mr.,  109,  128 

Bacon,  Lord,  241,  250,  255,  284  «., 
288,  290 

Balmanno,  Mr.,  131 
Bannister,  J.,  130  and  n.,  131,  163, 
168,  201,  209,  216,  253 
Barnardo,  257 
Bath,  121 

Beauchamp,  Mr.,  191 
Beaumont,  Dowager  Lady,  4,  5, 
152 

Beaumont,  Lady,  93 
Beaumont,  Sir  George,  4,  5,  8,  13, 
15  «.,  20,  28,  67,  70-1,  85,  91-7, 
103,  no,  116,  128,  160,  191  n., 
195  n.,  222,  244,  272,  287 
Beauvoir,  Benyon  de,  188 
Beech y,  Sir  William,  166,  201 
Bellini,  the  brothers,  259 
Bembo,  Cardinal,  290 
Berghem,  265,  266,  273,  287 
Bergholt,  East,  1,  2,  6,  7,  10,  13, 
15-21,  25,  29,  42-58,  65,  146, 
158,  161,  218,  254 
Bicknell,  Charles,  21-3,  38,  47, 
51  ».,  54,  137,  145 
Bicknell,  Maria  (afterwards  Mrs. 
Constable),  21-2,  27,  36,  39-61, 
102,  144,  147 

Bigg,  Mr.,  90,  92,  128,  164,  179 
Bologna,  260,  270,  290 
Bonner,  Mr.,  210  and  n. 

Both,  John,  265,  266,  273 
Boucher,  Francis,  275  and  n. 
Bourdon,  Sebastian,  263,  266, 

272-4 


| Bourgeois,  Sir  Francis,  14 
Bradford,  Lord,  37 
Brantham,  15,  17,  252 
Bridgman,  Rev.  George,  3 7 
Brighton,  44,  45,  119,  126,  129, 
132,  135,  144,  183,  254 
Brighton  Gazette,  140-1 
Bril,  Paul,  262,  263,  271 
Brockedon,  W.,  116 
Brookes,  Joshua,  10 
Bryan,  Michael,  9 
Bures,  2 

Burgess,  Bishop,  133 
Bums,  Robert,  81,  231 
Burton,  L.  Archer,  66 
Byron,  Lord,  36,  50,  107 

Callcott,  Dr.,  33 

Callcott,  Sir  Augustus,  41,  87, 
134-6,  153,  180 
j Calvart,  Denis,  260 
I Canaletti,  Antonio,  182 
j Caracci,  Antonio,  8,  94 
j Carraci,  the,  260,  263,  267,  270, 

| 271 

| Carey,  Mr.,  217 
J Carlisle,  Earl  of,  167 
I Caroline,  Queen,  66  n. 

\ Carpenter,  James,  40,  128 
j Carpenter,  William,  78  n.,  211, 
218,  223 

| Cephalus  and  Procris,  95 
j Chalon,  Alfred,  180,  190 
Chalon,  John,  150,  190,  194 
I Charleton,  109 

Charlotte  Street,  31,  40,  44,  48, 

I 81 

j Chatham,  14 
Cheverton,  Thomas,  238 
J Choiseul,  Due  de,  12 1 
I Choiseul  Gallery,  120 
J Cimabue,  Giovanni,  257 
i Cipriani,  Giovanni  Battista,  274 
I Clark,  Sir  Charles,  193 
Claude  (Lorraine),  5,  30,  71,  74, 
81-5,  88,  90-3,  102,  115,  146, 
155,  178,  240-4,  262-6,  270-3, 
279-87 


293 


294  Life  of  Constable 


Cole-Orton  Hall,  94-95  and  n., 
96,  100-3,  244 
Collins,  F.,  109,  no,  134 
Collins,  William,  70 
Colnaghi,  Dominic,  146 
Conroy,  Mrs.,  44 

Constable,  Abram,  4,  39,  112,  144, 

251 

Constable,  Ann,  47  n.,  57,  251 
Constable,  Archibald,  116 
Constable,  George,  188, 197  and  n., 
203  and  210,  248 
Constable,  Golding,  2,  3,  22,  24,  57 
Constable,  Hugh,  2 
Constable,  John  (Jun.),  200-20, 

224,  251 

Constable,  Mary,  26,  m 
Cooper,  Astley,  91 
Correggio,  76,  77,  89,  94,  277 
Cortona,  Pietro  da,  267,  274 
Cowper,  William,  29,  240 
Coxe,  Peter,  39  and  n.,  15 1 
Coxe,  William,  32,  76,  145 
Cozens,  Alexander,  19,  64,  71, 
211  n. 

Cozens,  John,  21 1,  212,  264,  284 
Curtis,  Sir  Wm.,  89,  90  and  n. 
Cuyp,  Albert,  264,  266,  278 

Danbury,  42 

Darby,  Francis,  125 

D’ Artois,  Jaques,  263 

David,  James  Louis,  275-6  . 2J  2. 

Davidson,  Mr.,  199 

Davis,  Dr.,  165-6 

Dawe,  George,  48,  49 

Dawson,  Benjamin,  173 

Deal,  13,  14 

Dedham,  2,  10,  98,  101,  no,  187, 

252 

De  Hooge,  Peter,  185-7,  239, 

279 

Derbyshire,  9,  10,  254 
De  Vris,  C.,  90 
Dolci,  Carlo,  77 

Domenichino,  260,  261  and  n., 
262,  266,  270 
Dorigny,  Nicholas,  4 
Dover,  14 

Dow,  Gerard,  265  «. 

Driffield,  Rev.,  42,  58 
Dudley,  Lord,  72  «. 

Dunthome,  John,  3,  7,  8 and  w., 
9,  10,  13,  39,  193  ».,  194  and  »., 
209 

Dunthome,  John  (Jim.),  39,108-11, 
114  and  «.,  126,  130-43,  146, 
183-6,  231 


Dunthome,  Thomas,  193 
Durer,  Albert,  258-9,  266-7,  270 
Dysart,  Countess  of,  16,  91,  105, 
126,  146,  153,  168-9,  205,  226 
Dysart,  Earl  of,  16,  28 

Egerton,  Lord  Francis,  260 
Egremont,  Lord,  179,  205  - 7, 

216 

Elsheimer,  Adam,  271 
English  Landscape , 78,  139,  158, 
171,  187 

Etty,  William,  164-5 
Evans,  Mr.,  147  and  n.,  149,  150, 
155,  182,  185 

Exeter,  28,  33 
Eyck,  Van,  258  n. 

Falcone,  Anniello,  273 
Farrington,  George,  5,  25-26,  32, 

Feenng!  42  ^ 

Field,  Air.  George,  236,  279  n. 
Finden,  Messrs.,  251 
Fiore,  Jacopo  del,  226 
Fisher,  Dr.  (afterwards  Bishop  of 
Salisbury),  12,  13,  25,  28,  33,  65, 
68,  7 3,  75,  80-3,  86,  103,  107, 
230 

Fisher,  General,  44 

Fisher,  Mrs.,  25,  28,  33,  68,  86, 

185,  253  n. 

Fisher,  Rev.  John,  27,  32,  44, 
59-62,  64  n.,  66-9,  80-2,  86,  125, 
132,  147,  179,  185,  230,  247-52, 
285-6  ». 

Fitzwilliam,  Lord,  109 
Flatford,  2,  40,  43,  78,  210,  251, 
252 

Flaxman,  John,  36 
Foggo,  Mr.,  214 
Folkard,  Mrs.,  193 
Folkestone,  254 
Fontaine,  127 
Fontana,  P.,  260 
Fonthill,  91,  92 
Forbin,  Count,  116 
Forster,  Captain,  80 
Fouquieres,  James,  263 
Francanzani,  Francesco,  2 73 
Fuseli,  Henry,  87,  197,  241,  249 
and  n.,  253,  273,  277,  281,  288 

Gaddi,  Angiolo,  242 
Gainsborough,  Thomas,  8 and  w., 
19,  90  n.,  157,  178,  179,  264,  267, 
274,  283  , LV  % f 


Index 


295 


Gallery  of  British  Art,  78 
Gessner,  Solomon,  6,  57 
Ghirlandaio,  257 
Gillingham,  100-1,  104,  254 
Giorgione,  259 
Giotto,  257 

Girtin,  Thomas,  5,  19,  264,  284 
Glover,  Richard,  69,  72,  169 
Godfrey,  Peter,  1 
Gooch,  Dr.,  86,  91,  97,  247 
Gordon,  Sir  Willoughby,  87  n. 
Gravesend,  14 
Greenwich,  56 
Greuze,  J.  B.,  168 
Grim  wood,  Rev.  Dr.,  2 
Grosvenor,  Lord,  167 
Gubblns,  Captain,  49  n.,  51  n. 
Gubbins,  Colonel,  51 
Gubbins,  Richard,  127 
Guido  Reni,  260-2 

Hackert,  James  Philip,  266,  274 
Hadleigh,  42 

Hampstead,  142-7,  164,  174,  182, 
186,  196,  203,  212-3,  233  n., 
254-5,  285 

Hampstead,  Lady,  128 
Hand,  Mr.,  132 
Hand,  Mrs.,  no 
Hamham,  172 
Hayley,  William,  29 
Heathcote,  Lady,  25,  27,  31,  37 
Heem,  John  David  de,  90 
Helmingham  Park,  9 
Hemmelinck,  258  n. 

Henderson,  Mr.,  31 
Herbert,  222 
Hobbema,  178 

Hogarth,  William,  157,  235,  267, 
274,  282,  285  M. 

Holford,  Charles,  203 
Hopkins,  Captain,  215-6 
Hoppner,  John,  27,  29 
Home,  Bishop,  187 

Ipswich,  8 

Irving,  Washington,  109,  113 
Italy,  88 

Jackson,  John,  17,  70,  77,  109, 
134,  145,  153,  155,  164,  167 
John  Bull,  113,  145 
Johnson,  Dr.,  206,  247 
Judkin,  Rev.  T.  J.,  233 

Kaufmann,  Angelica,  275 
Kneller,  Sir  Godfrey,  88 
Knight,  222 


Laar,  Peter  de,  266,  273 
Lambert,  Mr.,  1 19-120 
Lambert,  George,  282 
Landseer,  Charles,  222 
Landseer,  Edwin,  40, 160, 169, 175, 
187  ».,  191 

Lane,  Samuel,  76,  135,  144,  146, 
160,  162,  188,  229 
Langham,  252 
La  Touche,  Mrs.,  180 
Lavenham,  2 

Lawley,  Francis,  180  and  n. 
Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  25,  26,  38, 
71,  89,  102,  109,  115,  120,  126, 
134,  136,  145, 151,  153, 159,  160, 
162,  172,  213,  245-6,  284 
Leicester,  94  and  «. 

Leicester,  Sir  John,  88 
Lennard,  Lady,  35 
Lennard,  Sir  Thomas,  38 
Leslie,  Charles  Robert,  109,  113, 
138,  149,  160,  170 
Le  Sueur,  Peter,  274 
Lin  wood,  Miss,  10,  94 
Lisle,  126,  132 
Longford,  64 
Lott,  Willy,  40 

Loutherbourg,  Philip  James  de, 
266 

Louvre,  the,  107,  117,  120,  150 
Lucas,  Mr.,  67  and  n.,  124,  157-71, 
187,  199,  210,  213,  221,  226 
and  ».,  228 

Lucas  Van  Leyden  (Jacobs),  258 
Lucatelli,  274 

Lyttelton,  Thomas,  Lord,  170  and 
«.,  171 

Maclise,  Daniel,  229 
Malden,  42 

Manners,  Lady  Louisa,  27-9 
Maratti,  Carlo,  84,  250  n. 
Marlborough,  Duke  of,  139 
Masaniello,  273 
Matthews,  70  «.,  72 
Mellon,  Miss,  128 
Mengs,  Anton  Raphael,  274 
Michael  Angelo,  72  n.,  142,  249, 
250  «.,  274,  278 
Michele,  Mr.,  233 
Milman,  Dean,  81 
Mirehouse,  Mr.,  128-31 
Mola,  Pietro  Francesco,  266, 
270 

Moor,  Jacob,  266,  274 
Moon,  Mm  183 
Morland,  George,  128 
Morley,  Lady,  192,  253  n. 


296 


Life  of  Constable 


Morrison,  Mr.,  106,  109 
Murillo,  283 

Neave,  Digby,  no,  170-1 
Newbury,  70 
New  Forest,  17 
Newton,  160,  187 
Neyland,  252 
Noble,  Miss,  214,  228 
Northcote,  J.,  78,  117,  141,  153, 
167  168,  241,  242  n. 

Opie,  John,  248  n. 

Ormsby,  Sir  Thomas,  196 
Osmington,  60-1,  64,  80,  92,  120-3, 
129,  140,  147,  254 
Ostade,  I.,  120,  240,  250  n., 

265  n. 

Ottley,  Mr.,  110-11 
Owen,  Mr.,  26,  no,  167 

Paley,  William,  12 1 
Panini,  Paulo,  274 
Partridge,  222 
Patel,  Peter,  281 
Peel,  Sir  Robert,  185,  240 
Pembroke,  Lord,  137 
Petworth,  204-6,  225 
Phillips,  Mr.,  108,  139 
Phillips  (painter),  134,  153 
Pickersgill,  153 
Pisa,  257 
Pope,  Mr.,  138 
Portici,  7 1 

Poulson’s  History  of  Holderness, 
116  n. 

Poussin,  Gaspar,  9,  14,  69,  70  n., 
82,  99,  262,  266,  282,  283 
Poussin,  Nicholas,  72,  132,  261 
and  n.,  262,  266,  273-6,  283 
Prince  Regent,  51 
Purton,  Wm.,  202,  204,  209,  219, 
234,  251,  252,  270  n. 

Putney  Heath,  50,  51,  57-59,  *44, 
175 

Pye,  284 

Radnor,  Lord,  33 
Raphael,  4,  72  n.,  82,  164,  229, 
246,  249,  250  n.,  257 
Reading,  70 

Rebow,  General,  30,  58,  65,  196 
Rebow,  Mrs.,  58,  65 
Reinagle,  Mr.  8 

Rembrandt,  Paul,  250  «.,  264-6, 
276-81 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  13,  16,  27- 
30,  35-6,  72  n.,  74,  95,  100,  146, 


156,  160,  179  n.,  216,  222,  247-9' 
267-9,  274-5,  282 
Reynolds,  S.  W.,  117,  124 
Rhudde,  Rev.  Dr.,  1,  21-2,  25, 
47-9,  53,  61 
Ricci,  Marco,  274 
Richardson,  Jonathan,  88 
Richmond,  28-9,  206 
Ripley,  81,  128 
Robertson,  Andrew,  15 1,  235 
Roberts,  Mrs.,  1,  10 
Roberts,  222,  228 
Rochard,  in 
Rochester,  14 
Rochford,  42 
Rodney,  Lord,  179 
Rogers,  Miss,  79 
Romney,  George,  282 
Rubens,  Peter  Paul,  32,  33  n., 
84,  90,  100,  263-6,  275-7,  279 
281 

Ruysdael,  Jakob,  6-8,  72,  81,  90, 
115,  185,  264,  266,  279,  280 

Salisbury,  75-6,  80,  91-2,  107,  112, 
130,  132,  147,  155,  167-8,  253 
254 

Salvator  Rosa,  74,  263,  266,  273, 
281,  287 
Sass,  164 
Savage,  Mrs.,  152 
Schlegel,  F.,  147-8 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  104 
Seguir,  Mr.,  190 
Shaftesbury,  Lord,  73 
Shakespeare,  Wm.,  81,  93,  229 
Shee,  Martin  Archer,  134,  160 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  36 
Smith,  John  Thomas,  5-8,  239 
Sober,  Mrs.,  108 
Southend,  42 
Southey,  Miss,  97 
Southey,  Robert,  97,  100,  101,  241 
Southgate,  89 
Spedding,  Miss,  226 
Spedding,  Mr.,  226 
Spencer,  Lady,  51 
Spilsbury,  48 

Stafford,  Marquis  of,  29,  36 
Steele,  Sir  Richard,  19,  183 
Steen,  Jan,  279 
Stoke,  252 

Stothard,  Tomas,  28-9,  50, 1 67, 
70,  78,  128,  165,  182,  187 
229,  249,  283 
Stour,  River,  124 
Stratford,  252 
Strowger,  Samuel,  n 


Index 


Strutt,  Mr.,  13 1 
Swaneveldt,  Herman,  30 

Tabley,  Lord  de,  143 
Tales  of  a Traveller,  113 
Teniers,  David,  2 77  n. 

Thomond,  Marchioness  of,  28 
Thomson,  John,  26,  114,  172 
Tinney,  Mr.,  67,  69,  70,  73,  79, 
80  «.,  91-3,  101,  109,  120,  252 
Tintern  Abbey,  48 
Titian,  74,  82,  22 7,  259,  266-9, 
276,  281 

Tollemache,  Mrs.  Charles,  126-7 
Torin,  Captain,  13 
Travis,  Mr.,  56 
Turnbull,  285  n. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  26,  37,  38,  145, 
178,  222,  227 

Uccello,  Paulo,  268 
Uwins,  T.,  244  n. 

Vadder,  Louis  de,  263 
Vanbree,  Mr.,  107 
Vander  Neer,  73 
Vander  Velde,  82,  114,  280 
Varley,  John,  169,  193 
Venice,  259 

Vernet,  Claude,  265,  274,  281, 
282  n.,  287 
Vernon,  Miss,  126 
Vernon,  Mr.,  210,  215,  217 
Veronese,  Paul,  84,  190,  279  n. 
Volterra,  Daniel  de,  261  n. 

Wakefield,  Priscilla,  5 
Wales,  43,  48 

Ward,  Edward  Matthew,  134 
Watteau,  275  n. 

U «et-c-o  <w  >'t 


297 

1 Watts,  Ann  (Mrs.  Constable,  Sen.), 
2,  4,  45-8 

Watts,  David  Pike,  16,  23,  31,  33, 
35,  40,  51,  53*55,  hi 
Weight,  Mr.,  31,  32 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  66 
Wells,  Mr.,  168-9,  174 
West,  Benjamin,  12,  25-6,  35, 
38,  102,  267,  270,  284 
Westall,  Richard,  136,  225 
Whalley,  Mrs.,  9,  56,  57,  94 
Whalley,  Rev.  Daniel,  251 
Wheatley,  Mr.,  129 
White,  Gilbert,  69-70 
Wilkie,  Sir  David,  12,  17,  27,  70, 
83,  87,  96  n.,  109,  126,  150,  153, 
164,  203  «.,  208-9,  222,  245, 
249,  250  M. 

William  IV.,  169 

“ Willy  Lott’s  House,”  40,  211, 

251 

Wilson,  Richard,  8,  19,  20,  88,  90, 
143,  147,  157,  237,  264,  26 7, 
274,  282,  283 
Wilton,  Joseph,  64 
Wood,  Alderman,  113 
Woodbum,  Mr.,  71,  91 
Woodmanstone,  119 
Woollett,  William,  284 
Wooton,  274,  282 
Worcester,  255 

Wordsworth,  William,  88,  95,  195, 
223 

Wouvermans,  P.,  73,  91,  265  and  n. 
York,  Duke  of,  87  n. 

Zeigler,  193 

Zuccherelli,  Francesco,  266,  274, 
282  n. 


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